Boundaries
by Giraffe on the Moon
Summary: Set six months after the movie, Anderson must begin establishing Psi-division. In order to do so she has to journey outside the Boundary Wall in search of a real education in the application of her skills. Dredd is included as backup.
1. Robot of the Year

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Dredd characters, places, etc.

Chapter 1: Robot of the Year

Dredd had completed his third circuit as he spotted Judge Diablo waving him over. Dredd wasn't unused to working security detail, he was just not as comfortable waiting for something to happen rather than actively pursuing wrongs already commit. He cut through the press of crowds filling the Robot of the Year exhibition and made for Diablo, his name badge and mustache the only differentiating characteristics about him to the public. Dredd knew him as a seasoned Judge, an expert really at protection details with an eye for trouble brewing few others could boast. He'd worked counter terrorism for years and handled many high profile cases, a regular at most public gatherings.

All smiles and polished manners Diablo was deceptively relaxed. He leaned against the railing overlooking the main show floor. Sociable almost to a fault there was more than one reporter usually present at these circuses that lost her heart when Diablo worked his PR magic after an event or arrest. Even with all this in their favor and the assortment of auxiliary members between independently hired muscle and a battalion of regular police officers Dredd had a sense that things would go wrong.

"All quiet on the western front," Diablo remarked when Dredd reached his side. He turned and leaned both elbows on the rail to study the floor below. "We'll see if our perp was just hoping to cause a stir with his threat."

"Unlikely," Dredd remarked flatly, skimming the crowd below. Diablo chuckled.

"Protection detail isn't usually your thing Dredd. Could it be you're secretly fond of technology and curious about the show this year? I hear there's going to be a demonstration that'll mark a new era in robotics." Diablo's smile already said he knew better.

"The number of potential casualties is unacceptable," Dredd replied and Diablo chuckled.

"If you're one thing you're consistent Dredd. All badge and duty," he stood up straight, hooking his fingers in his belt.

"A pity there aren't more with equal consistency," Dredd replied. Diablo laughed this time.

"They churn 'em out of the Academy younger all the time. You just gave another rookie Assessment recently didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"They say it was a doozy, one of the biggest drug busts in history."

"A drug bust's a drug bust," Dredd brushed off the implied praise. He'd have expected no less of another seasoned Judge like Diablo. Anderson had done extraordinarily. She was supposed to have been a failed Judge and instead he found himself partnered with an equal, inexperienced as she might have been. Diablo shook his head.

"The girl, I think her name was Anderson right? They say she's got a great record since then. She's notorious, the first rookie you ever passed."

Dredd offered no reply.

"Not even a scrap of insight for me? She must have been a Mutie," Diablo laughed as an alarm bell sounded in Dredd's head. Beneath his visor his eyes shot suspiciously to Diablo. Anderson's "condition" wasn't common knowledge.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, his scowl deepening.

"Don't they emit pheromones or something? She must have some unnatural charm for a passing mark," Diablo said as Dredd realized he was teasing.

"Her record proves she earned the pass. It wasn't a hand out," was all he said. Diablo chuckled again but offered no more heckling, his attention shifting to the floor below where a flamboyantly dressed businessman was stepping up with a humanoid robot moving smoothly in tow.

There was something almost human about the android's gait, less comprised of exact angles and more attuned to the actual movements of a human body. A copper toned, slightly larger than life replica of a blocky human shape, the android seemed to look around it as if curious. Dredd's eyebrows came together. What was this android's purpose? It didn't have apparent tools for carpentry or construction, not for street cleaning or washing or any number of assorted attachments for the various jobs assigned to robots. George was written boldly across the robot's chest.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the annual Robot of the Year!" the demonstrator announced, his arms held up to a crowd that offered enthusiastic clapping and rippling whispers of anticipation. The salesman's smile was too broad, his teeth glittering with artificial brightness. "You've seen some amazing things this year have you not? But I believe this may take the cake. Allow me to introduce George."

Curious applause this time. Diablo stroked his mustache as he studied the stage below. Dredd let his eyes drift across the crowd in search of anything untoward. Threats had been made and Dredd fully anticipated their attempted fulfillment.

"George here is a domestic bot, custom designed to mind the house and even nanny the children. This is nothing new. So what might make George so special you may ask? Well, lets have ourselves a demonstration. You madame, why don't you come on up here?"

He beckoned a blond woman, pretty in her mid thirties, dressed in trendy brand names. She approached the stage and George came to meet her, offering blocky fingers to her gallantly. Hesitantly she accepted the hand and let the robot help her onto the stage.

"Now my dear, why don't you try having yourself a conversation with George here?" the representative suggested as the robot stood waiting attentively.

"Uh, hello George," she said hesitantly.

"Hello miss," George's bronze colored head dipped slightly. "Shall I fetch you a chair perhaps?" The cadences and speech patterns were totally human. Dredd felt an immediate warning bell. Make a robot too human and it would soon have human compulsions, good and bad. He came closer to the rail beside Diablo.

"That would be lovely George," the woman nodded, still nervous. George moved with swift, long strides, graceful. He collected a chair in his blunted fingers and brought it back for the woman who sat with another "thank you". They proceeded into a conversation that began with George's abilities and wound its way into politics and the state of Mega City 1 itself. By the end the woman was laughing as the crowd stood agog.

"Well he's human enough," called one of the crowd. "But will he do as he's told?"

"A fine question," the demonstrator nodded.

"Miss Del Monte, allow me please to help you off the stage," George said, the sensors in his eyes oddly shaped like irises flicking to the demonstrator. Dredd might have sworn it was leery of the human, apprehensive of the almost cruel delight spread of his face. The woman accepted George's blunted fingers again as he walked her to the edge of the stage and helped her down. "There you are ma'am. Thank you very much for taking the time to entertain this humble bunch of bolts."

"Oh George, not at all. The pleasure was all mine," the woman assured him.

"Now then George," the demonstrator clapped his hands and jets of fire burst to life behind him in an impressive wall of flames. The crowd gasped and drew back. "Into the fire with you!" George hesitated there by the edge of the stage, standing with a very human sort of fear.

"Sir, I think it may be painful to stand in there," he said with trace notes of hesitation.

"Nonsense George. You won't feel a thing. You're only metal after all. Metal and an impressive ability to mimic human emotion," the demonstrator clucked his tongue. "Now, into the fire."

"I...I would rather not..." George's fingers came together, the soft sound of them being wrung almost echoing over the captivated crowd.

"2 million!" Miss Del Monte shouted suddenly. "I'll give you 2 million credits for him!" Her voice was high, reedy. Fear made her face tight, drained it of color where a few moments ago her blue eyes had shimmered with her laughter and her wheat blonde bob had danced as she shook her head in an enthusiastic modesty against George's offered praise.

"Sorry ma'am, this particular model isn't for sale. We've got plenty more lined up and we can certainly get you one of those, just like this one."

"I don't want one 'just like him'. I want _this_ one. Four million!" Del Monte almost snarled as the crowd began to stir from its stupefied silence into uncertain agitation.

"George!" the demonstrator bellowed. "Into the fire! _Now_! Its an _order_!"

As if on strings George jerked several steps forward towards the roaring flames. He was the better part of the way to them when Miss Del Monte hoisted herself athletically onto stage – she must have played tennis with other well to do wives by the tan and the tone in her arms – and made for George. Dredd moved too, heading swiftly for the stairwell down to the showroom from their observation point where he could collect her.

"Don't George!" Del Monte protested, her hand hooking around the robot's wrist. Security surged like a hill of angry ants, the first one there taking the woman's arm. Del Monte jerked her elbow back reflexively and caught her would be taker's nose, sending the burly man with "security" written in yellow across his chest staggering back. "Don't listen to that horrible man! Run George!"

"Please make them stop master!" George pulled Del Monte out of the reach of more body guards. "I will do as you say but please do not let them take Miss Del Monte. She is much too kind to this old jumble of circuits."

"Enough!" the demonstrator shouted just as Dredd pulled himself nimbly onto the stage. He approached swiftly through the retreating security, the one with the bloody nose muttering curses and snarling at the well dressed woman.

"Come with me ma'am," Dredd instructed.

"No charges from us sir. The lady just likes the product," The demonstrator gave him a bleach toothed grin as fake as his tanning bed tan. "What about you sir?" he shot the security guard a blistering look.

"None," the guard answered.

Del Monte looked back at Dredd with tears glittering in her eyes, threatening her lashes. Her face pleaded with him. He only motioned her ahead of him off the stage.

"You're the law! How can you let him do this?" she demanded, her voice shaking with anguish.

"This thing belongs to that man. What he does with his personal property is not my concern so long as it does not harm anyone else."

"What about _George_? He'll be harmed."

"Robots do not qualify as persons. They're property," he shook his head. Anger flashed in Del Monte's eyes.

"Go on ma'am. Its been a real pleasure," George assured her, a smile in his tone though his voice box offered no way of shifting into the expression. Dredd carefully took Del Monte's arm so as not to startle her into retaliation and gave her a gentler tug than he might have under normal circumstances. She stepped back, eyes still fixed on George, and he guided her back down the steps off the stage.

George marched resolutely into the flames. He turned back to face the crowd as his iron exterior began to glow and then to melt, gears exposed just long enough to be visible before they too began melting, circuitry sparking. Oil boiled up from everywhere, including some that streamed down the robot's face.

Del Monte was silent beside Dredd, her elbow still loosely in his hand lest she decide to do something foolish. They watched until George was nothing but a bubbling pile of molten metal.

"Judge, you see a lot of things out there so maybe you would know," Del Monte turned a stony face to him, her eyes glittering with tears she refused to shed and at the same time hard with fury. "Why would you give a robot feelings, thoughts, just to destroy it?"

"Power," Dredd released her. Del Monte's smile jerked at one corner of her mouth and a tear almost spilled over. Dredd extracted a book for citations and scratched one out for her. "Public disturbance," he tore out the ticket and handed it to her. She rolled her eyes as she accepted, glancing at the amount. She did a double take. "It might be better if you stay home next year Miss Del Monte."

"I'll be far too busy figuring out how to legally protect robots like George to get another one credit fine," she nodded as he turned to go. "Judge?" He half turned to look back at her. "Would you protect them too? If there were laws?"

"You do your part and I'll do mine," was all he replied. Del Monte gave him a faint smile and finally reached up to wipe away the tears suddenly pouring down her face. Dredd left her and returned to where Diablo was still watching the spectacle as half the crowd grumbled dispersing and the other half were crowding around the demonstrator with wallets out.

"Amazing what they can do with circuitry these days," Diablo remarked.

"Giving robots human emotions will only lead to more trouble," Dredd replied, watching Del Monte depart through the crowd. She was a little wheat blond head making for the exit amidst the swirl of many bodies.

"Probably. But it looks like there are plenty of people willing to pay," Diablo gestured at the throngs of people pressing towards the demonstrator. "About time for another circuit. I'm surprised our yahoo hasn't followed up yet. It all seems far too quiet."

* * *

Twenty minutes was not much time. Everything was so still, so perfectly undisturbed but for the quiet hum of machinery and the quiescent robots stationed attentively, anticipating the commands of their masters.

The dead lay strewn across the floors, chocking the aisles and walkways. Many of them were collapsed in the frothing pools of partially dissolved lung they'd hacked up before drowning in their own fluids, a result of the gas tapped in via the air ducts. Panic had lasted all of two minutes, a stampeding, raging group of people before the gas had done its work and they were all dead.

Diablo coughed behind him, a gurgling sound. He'd sounded the alarm the moment he'd caught a whiff of the poisonous gas, the few seconds warning Dredd had needed to settle his own respirator. Diablo had gotten the barest bit in him but it was already at work, slowly eating at him. The pain must have been excruciating but his fellow Judge moved with him swiftly down the corridors, stepping over the dead in search of the perpetrator.

Biological hazard units were already outside but they had to quarantine the surrounding area so they could process the air out lest it creep through the city and devastate blocks. There was so much poison gas it clouded the air like mist. The quarantine would take at least another thirty minutes. As yet Dredd had ten minutes before the oxygen in his respirator would be gone. Diablo was as good as dead in less time than that and they both knew it.

"Sir," something stirred in the mist and both Judges whirled around, Lawgivers raised and ready to fire. "There are lethal amounts of toxin in the air. You should evacuate before you die too." One of the George models from earlier came out of the mist. "Oh. Respirators. My apologies, sir."

With the respirator in Dredd couldn't speak. He tapped his visor and motioned around the room. The George bot tilted his head before seeming to scan his surroundings.

"If your question is 'have I seen anyone' the answer is no. If it is your desire sir I could perhaps bypass the defenses of the present security system and we may be able to view the feeds."

Dredd gave George a nod and the robot stepped very carefully over the fallen, back the way he'd come. Dredd and Diablo followed, Diablo coughing a few more times. George led them to a console in the wall and adeptly began keying information into it. He made a very human sound of irritation before pulling the paneling back with an easy tug – no mean feat as the bolts squealed back stripped of their threads – and plugged a cable directly from himself into the system.

"Please regard this," he stepped slightly to the side so the pair of judges could crowd in.

In an uncanny similarity to the event in Peach Trees the war protocol had been activated, sealing the entire building. As George replayed the footage Dredd watched a man in a gas mask stroll in and blow the room away. A robot came in behind him and dutifully hacked into the system and sealed off the building. And then the man had simply worked the console with air controls and the gas had vented, as if put there beforehand. They'd had building security look the whole place over head to foot. These systems should have been checked. It no longer mattered as the one who'd overlooked it was surely dead by now.

George tracked the man and his robot's progress through the building and realized they had stopped, and were still sitting, at the main platform where the demonstrations had been held. Dredd glanced at Diablo, just finishing another wheezing coughing fit, bloody foam dribbling down his chin behind the respirator. The other Judge nodded, flicking the selection on his Lawgiver to Hot Shot.

"Shall I try to vent the gas sir?" George asked. Dredd shook his head. "Perhaps I can find a way to clear one room. I doubt your respirator has much air left. I shall work it out as quickly as I can sir." Dredd gave him a nod and was about to go when the robot removed his pinky finger and held it out. "So I can locate you sir." Dredd accepted the finger, tucked it in his belt, and moved into the poisonous fog like a wraith.

He and Diablo moved through the halls in practiced familiarity with death. Diablo took only a handful more risks than he ordinarily would, the limit of his mortality clearly weighing on him. He must have been in great pain, struggling to breathe as he was, but his arms were steady as he sighted down corridors and turned around corners in the labyrinthine displays.

"Do you see how effective the Judges are Buck? Look at this. Six hundred dead because they didn't feel my threats were genuine. A bit of work on the front end and they couldn't sweep the building thoroughly. Why not check the vents? It was there!" snickered a voice through the fog. Both Judges came to a halt. "The Hall of Justice. What a joke! The Hall of Totalitarianism more like it! Inept at best!" he burst into a short cackle, shrill. "Six hundred dead! They'll not forget this Buck. Not at all. And at the annual Robot of the Year showcase no less! They'll think twice I imagine. Pah!"

"Sir, heat signatures at two o'clock," came the monotone reply of an older A.I. model. They didn't have a line of sight but Diablo took the risk. He plunged forward, vanishing ahead of Dredd and shots were fired. Dredd's voice grated in his throat, the closest he could come to a swear with his respirator in place, and moved to follow by cutting a wide arc around one side.

Diablo was face down on the floor, the back of his helmet a gaping hole. Blood pooled underneath him, evidence of wounds to his chest cavity though in his obscured sight crouched by the edge of the stage Dredd couldn't see where the bullets might have come out the back of his Kevlar vest.

"There sir," the robot pointed Dredd out, standing with sparking holes in its back. Peering around the robot was the muzzle of a gun and the gas mask.

"Sorry chum, no survivors but myself. I'll surrender then and get my piece with the media to explain 'why'." He cackled and squeezed off a few more well placed shots. Dredd ducked under the lip of the stage. If he hadn't needed his respirator he would have pointed out that responding Judges would execute him on the spot. The best form of communication he could hope for was an interrogation with Judges highly skilled in the art, followed then by an execution for 600 counts of manslaughter, acts of terrorism, murdering a Judge, and the list could go on to almost countless smaller infractions that hardly mattered.

His line of sight wasn't good enough for Armor Piercing rounds, not to catch them both. The robot had already eaten a few heat seekers by tracking their trajectory and stepping between it and his master. So Dredd shifted it to High Ex. There would be some backlash but the man wouldn't walk away and the robot couldn't shield him from it. Besides, Dredd figured his own chances of walking away were slim so the detonation didn't concern him overmuch.

Shifting he waited until his man had to reload and then popped up and squeezed off one round. He managed to duck in enough time that the shuddering explosion of shrapnel only grazed the top of his helmet, other chunks flying in every direction. It was accompanied by wet plops too as his real target collapsed in pieces. Dredd stood up to survey the damage. Satisfied the man was done in – the legs the only pieces left whole – he moved back through the haze towards the front door. Maybe they could rig up something for him to slip out in the remaining four minutes of his oxygen.

A shadow morphed out of the haze and caught his arm. The muzzle of his Lawgiver was out so fast he had almost pulled the trigger before he recognized George.

"This way sir," George instructed politely. So Dredd followed through the choked walkways before they slid into a spare room filled with transparent air. Dredd pulled in at the last dregs of his oxygen supply as the robot clicked on panels that pulled out the remaining toxins and vented some purified air back in its place. "It is safe to breathe now sir. You may remove your respirator."

Dredd pulled out his respirator and took a breath, half expecting to feel the burn of the poison eating his lungs. Instead he got a cool supply of oxygen and he took a few breaths in appreciation. George was keying away at another control panel, pausing almost thoughtfully as he considered the best approach.

"Can you patch us through to the outside?" Dredd asked.

"That is my present objective sir," George nodded, his voice distracted. "Sir...do you know if that woman made it out? Del Monte?"

"I don't," Dredd answered.

"I hope she did."

Dredd tilted his head slightly at the sentiment.

"Sir, what will become of me?" George inquired. "Shall I be returned to Wex Corps?"

"Not immediately. You'll be cataloged as evidence first and your databanks will be copied for records."

"What if I had already been purchased? My new owner died today sir...and I do not wish to be used in a demonstration like G-5004."

"You'll go to his next of kin," Dredd replied.

"We have communication with the men outside sir." George stepped back, hands tucked behind him and metal chin dipped subserviently. Dredd came up and leaned against the consul.

"Dredd here. Do you copy?"

"Copy Dredd. This is control. Status?"

"Only survivor. Judge Diablo killed in action. Perp executed. Current location annex room C115."

"Sit tight. Air purification should be completed in about two hours. Do you have enough oxygen?"

Dredd looked over at George who nodded.

"Affirmative."

"We'll get to you as soon as possible Dredd," the control operator assured him.

"Control, I need you to pull up the purchase records of Wex Corps model George unit..."

"G-5009," George supplied.

"G-5009," Dredd repeated.

"One moment." There was a pause and the faint sound of keys working. "Sold this afternoon to Alexis Killian."

"Will status?"

"All possessions are to be auctioned off."

"Tag G-5009 as evidence and find me a woman in her mid thirties by the last name Del Monte. She was amidst the patrons here. If she was marked as departing the show inform her that Wex Corps model George unit G-5009 is to be released into her custody until the liquidation auction and that she will still be expected to either bid on him or work out the price with the auctioneer in accordance with Killian's will."

"Understood Dredd. Anything else?"

"Dredd out."

The link crackled into silence as George stood staring at Dredd in what almost felt like shock. Very slowly the robot hinged forward until he became a perfect ninety degree angle.

"Thank you Judge," he seemed to whisper.

"You'll need this back," Dredd tossed the finger back to George as he sat down on one of the storage crates to await collection.


	2. Reassignment

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Judge Dredd characters, places, etc.

Chapter 2: Reassignment

Thirty six hours. It was thirty six hours up to her elbows in violent crime. The hold up at a grocery store, homicides at four separate locations, two rapes, and half a dozen hit and runs. It had taken four additional hours to type up all the paperwork. Pinching her nose bridge after binding the final report she leaned on her elbows and thought about how good it would feel to sleep. Her control was fraying after such a long shift and she needed time to sort out the vile thoughts she'd spent her day sifting through.

Levering herself up she collected the documents. Her boots clicked crisply, helmet in the other hand as she skimmed the words on the page. Along an ocean of shabby desks and past countless Judges she made for her superior's desk, the way as familiar to her as the workings of her Lawgiver.

Unit Chief Matheson's office was across the floor from the sad little desk she'd been assigned as the newest recruit. The cheap metal was bowed in the center so that everything rolled towards the keyboard and the lamp only worked if the cord was positioned at just the right angle. She spent so little time there that it hardly concerned her.

Matheson's office wasn't expansive but two walls were windows. Up here on the 140th floor of the Hall of Justice they had a spectacular view of the city. Even after working herself to the bone Anderson could still look out those windows and feel hope. Glittering like billions of candles she imagined the countless souls she served, their lives flickering and delicate. She and the other Judges were all that stood between them and chaos.

"They sell cityscapes," Matheson remarked. Anderson blinked and looked at him. He was dressed in the indoor uniform, dark blue and not nearly as protected. In her bulky street gear with mussed, sweat clumped tawny curls she felt like she shouldn't cross the rest of the threshold into the office for fear of defiling it. Matheson was meticulously clean. Always.

"Not this one sir," she replied with a shake of her head. Maybe it was something about the composition of the buildings from this particular office, or maybe it was just that it was _her_ view from the Department of Justice. The cityscapes in shops never inspired her. "My reports," she came across the room and placed them in Matheson's inbox.

"Busy shift," he nodded, lifting the first page of the top report. His steely blue eyes barely glanced over the page before looking back up at her. "Those two days off together, I wouldn't count on them. Chief Judge Goodman wants to see you."

This was said nonchalantly but Anderson caught a flash replay of discord between Matheson and Goodman. She reinforced her shields again without an external reaction. If she really was back on duty soon she would have to be extra vigilant. She particularly hated catching the thoughts of her fellow Judges. It made her feel sneaky and untrustworthy, especially since her talents had not been explained to those in her unit. Only Matheson had any idea.

"For an assignment?" she asked.

"Something about a new unit," Matheson shook his head. "All I know is you have more solved crimes – correctly solved crimes – in your first six months than any Judge I've ever had. And now you're being transferred."

Anderson blinked at him. Matheson held her gaze steadily.

"Before you pack up your desk and report to Goodman, I want to ask you something." Matheson leaned forward, his recently shaved head covered in a black burr and two scars like racing stripes running down the crown and back of his head. "I know you can read minds. Have you kept tabs on your fellow Judges?"

"You mean spied on them?" she asked, wishing she could brush a bit of hair from her eyes but feeling she should maintain Matheson's stare. "No."

"Why?"

"I think its impolite. And most times I don't want to know what someone is thinking unless it can help me on the job. Thoughts are...raw."

It was Matheson's turn to consider this. He did so by swinging around in his chair and staring out the windows. Anderson watched his profile; prominent nose and square chin, one racing stripe scar.

"Good luck," he looked over finally.

"Its been an honor sir," Anderson snapped a crisp salute despite her weariness. Matheson just dipped his chin once in acknowledgment before turning fully away towards the view. Anderson accepted the dismissal and returned to the desk. She stared at it, totally bereft of any personal items but for the dictionary and a fountain pen she particularly liked.

"Did it offend you?" Colt asked, a familiar presence behind her. Anderson looked over at possibly the smallest Judge ever allowed on the force. All of five feet Rosalyn Colt was in what appeared a miniature replication of a Judge's uniform. Her badge looked like it might pull her down being standard sized. With her red curls braided back out of her face and narrow blue eyes above a dusting of freckles she was counted pretty too. Anderson might have been able to block thoughts but she could generally feel the physical attraction which most men – and several women – instantly felt towards Colt.

"What?" Anderson asked.

"The desk. Did it offend you? You're staring at it so seriously," Colt elaborated. "I bet it called you a dirty name."

Anderson cracked a grin and Colt's smile came in crooked, stretching further up one side of her face and bringing out dimples. She had been the Judge Anderson had partnered with in her first month. That pairing had been hell. Colt made her do all the paperwork, cross questioned her on every decision, asked for particulars of the laws Anderson cited in her rulings, and forced her into most of the talking. The very first day Anderson was free of her Colt had marched across the room and slugged Anderson's shoulder in a display of crippling enthusiasm.

"You're gonna be great kid!" she had exclaimed, putting both fists on her hips. "And to thank me for my good training you're going to take me out for dinner after work." So Anderson admitted Colt as a friend because Colt had decided it.

"Cat call," Anderson corrected. Colt managed to hop-slide onto the desk and cross her legs, one gloved hand petting the bowed metal.

"Well hello desk," she purred much to Anderson's amusement. "A lover are you? As for you, you pulled another three-sixer. You're pretty well toast I bet. How's about I get us some breakfast down at Brixton's and you cook me dinner tomorrow night since you're off?" Colt suggested in her usual method of deciding things.

"I'm to report to Chief Judge Goodman," Anderson shook her head. "I don't know exactly how it'll go but I'm being transferred out of the 140th."

"What?" Colt jerked upright from her position luxuriating on the dilapidated old desk. "Transferred out? You mean we'll be on different floors? Why? Why must there be an additional elevator trip between us?" Anderson laughed picturing Colt squirming through the elevator usually dominated by muscled, full geared street Judges who did not always notice the slight five feet of red head who took kidney shots first before asking someone to stop crowding her.

"I really don't know," Anderson shrugged. Colt sucked on her lower lip in a pout as she watched Anderson collect the dictionary and fountain pen. Hooking her fingers in her belt she matched pace with Anderson as they made for the elevators.

"You should go have a day," Anderson advised as they came upon a seemingly ever milling group of Judges waiting to descend. She came around a side and pressed the up button, watching a head turn in a helmet to presumably look her way. It was an unusual time of day for someone to be going up from a particular floor. Meetings and the like happened between the council and Chief Justice at the beginning of the day. Generally meetings between Street Judges and the upper echelons happened later.

"I can't. I'm carrying your book," she took the dictionary out of Anderson's hand and tucked it under one arm. "Its very important, your tome of...wait, so you mean every time you're thumbing through this your looking up words? All this time I thought it was a collection of dirty novels to take your mind off the job but instead you were word hunting? We have sites to do that for you. You know, on the internet? This must have cost an arm and a leg to do it the old fashioned way. Who does that?"

"It was a graduation gift from one of my class mates at the Academy. I thought it would be a waste not to use it," Anderson smiled as Colt turned the book every which way in harsh scrutiny. She opened to the middle and skimmed the page as if expecting the dust jacket to actually be covering smut novels and sniffed at the assorted "M" words. The elevator dinged and Judges shuffled on to descend to the ground floor to either begin or end their shifts. It was easy to tell who was doing what. A day riding a Lawmaster left telltale signs of road grit and the shift work usually left a slackness in the line of the shoulders.

"What a very rich, very boring class mate. Did he graduate?"

"He did. He's in the 58th."

Colt sucked on one cheek as her eyes moved towards the ceiling, the face she made when she was after a detail that had almost slipped her.

"Big guy, tan, corn rows, stubble, piercings?"

"Iraj Kadivar," Anderson nodded.

"Huh. He smiles too much," Colt shook her head disapprovingly.

"He's over six feet tall. That's why you don't like him," Anderson corrected as one of the eight elevators finally began moving up towards their floor again.

"Are you implying I'm insecure?" Colt raised her eyebrows.

"You stand on a desk when you're briefing a team," Anderson pointed out.

"I'm just hard to see is all. One must take certain measures to be seen."

"And I'm sure they all call you the Fiery Flea because you have red hair."

"I will help you commit this to memory via osmosis. Bend down here," Colt pulled the book back like a baseball bat.

"Can't you reach?" Anderson teased. The book connected against her back with a solid thump and she wheezed laughter.

"I'll settle for bruising your ego instead," Colt grumbled, sticking the book back under her arm and facing the elevator that seemed to be destined for them as if she'd never reacted at all. Anderson was still working out the last few chuckles when the door dinged open. Still with her helmet and pen in either hand and Colt with the dictionary they entered the elevator lined with four Judges in indoor uniform. Rank indication placed them far above the pair of Street Judges although they appeared much less bulky without all their gear on. All but a man built like a brick wall. He must have weighed at least two hundred pounds at somewhere just south of six feet, everything muscle.

Colt and Anderson remained respectfully silent. Superior officers generally had little interest in banter between Street Judges still covered in a day's work, particularly in narrow, confined spaces. One by one they exited until it was just the girls on the way to the three hundredth floor.

"I bet this would leave a crater if we dropped it from the window," Colt remarked as they reached the top floor, again paging through the book. "It'd be like a meteorite from this height."

"It would only be a meteorite once it hit the ground," Anderson corrected.

"Let's just check on that," Colt paged through and ran one gloved finger down through the appropriate "M" page. She read and then snapped the book shut.

"Well?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Colt stepped off first as Anderson tried to maintain a straight face now that they were amidst the highest ranks. An aide was seated just inside the door from the elevators. He looked up, bolts of white through the temples, the rest of his hair and iron gray. His dark eyes searched both Judges.

"Cassandra Anderson," Anderson said. "From the 140th."

"The Chief Judge is expecting you," he nodded. "You?"

"Duty questions for Anderson on the way sir. No business," Colt replied professionally. "I'll take care of this for you." She indicated the book and gave Anderson a thumbs up accompanied by a feline grin. Swinging around she marched back the way she'd come leaving Anderson alone.

"That way," the aide pointed as if Anderson needed directions.

"Thank you sir," Anderson nodded. When she had gone far enough from the aide she took a few deep breaths in search of calm. Goodman's office was not hard to find, nor was this her first visit. It would be her third. The first was after failing the written final exam for candidacy at the Academy and the second was to be informed of her passing the Field Assessment. The skin on the back of her neck prickled to think of it, memories grafted into hers like tattoos rising to the forefront of her thoughts.

Nothing had ever quite been so vivid as that first shift, even the few occasions when execution was the proper course. Perhaps because she was better prepared the feel of their deaths were muffled somewhat. Not gone, but dampened.

Goodman's office door was ajar. Like Colt, Goodman's mind was one she recognized easily and could place a few floors away. It wasn't invasive so far as Anderson considered it. The particular signature of different thought patterns stuck out to her the way someone's usual cologne or the distinct sound of their voice marked them in her physical senses. It was never clear thoughts unless she took the time to look, just a general sense of who someone was.

Knocking despite already knowing Goodman was alone she heard the call for entrance and pushed through. Goodman was finishing something on her computer, slender black fingers flying across the keyboard.

"Take a seat Anderson," she instructed without looking up, eyes sliding over the last few lines. Anderson obliged, resting her helmet on her knee. She looked around the spacious room with an even grander view of the city across the entire back wall. The other three walls were lined with book shelves displaying records, books, achievements, and newspaper clippings about some of the worst incidents in Mega City One's existence. Anderson studied the clippings depicting Judge Fargo's death, images of the war with Texas City, a host of grisly crime stories, and several more while Goodman finished. "My apologies. I meant to have that done before you arrived."

"No trouble sir," Anderson shook her head, the clumped tresses itching against the back of her neck.

"You've impressed Matheson. He was less than excited to have a psychic in his unit," Goodman remarked as she stood up and made for one of the shelves. She skimmed the binders with assorted names and pulled one down. Anderson had no answer so remained silent. "He says you've done excellent work. As it turns out he was even less excited to part with you. That's good." Her eyes met Anderson's as she came back and sat at her desk. "The reason I pulled you is because I would like to start a psychic division. As of yet I don't have anyone with skills like yours. But then that's what your job will be. To find me useful members."

"As in go through the databases and interview?" Anderson prompted as Goodman paged through her binder.

"I've had lists of promising possible members gathered. While you've done good solid work and have good recommendations, I intend to put you directly under Judge Ecks. He's a senior officer and extremely capable, a member of the Council with the barest trace of psychic ability."

"I've heard his name before sir, but not that he was psychic," Anderson nodded.

"Though he's in charge he will be making his decisions regarding members of Psi-division based on your analysis of these specific candidates. Additionally you will be sent to handle things the council feels to be particular to your department. If it is determined you require back up before other members of Psi-division are properly established, other Street Judges will be assigned under your command."

All Anderson could do was nod as she accepted the binder Goodman slid across the desk. She began down the list of names and stopped suddenly.

"Sir, some of these individuals are incarcerated."

"If they can be persuaded to be of use, then I want them. Some of them have astronomical potential if they can be convinced of the benefits. Discuss possible enticements with Ecks. He'll have my authority to act as the pair of you see fit."

Anderson skimmed the names and couldn't help but feel that this might be a fool idea. Yes, she worked for the Hall of Justice because she _chose_ to. Asking convicted, incarcerated prisoners to help their wardens was dangerous. Particularly some of the powerful ones existing on the list.

"The development of the Psi-unit is not something entirely agreed upon by the Council. Even those who support the idea are hesitant. Unless otherwise instructed no one knows about your abilities or the development of the unit. If asked you're under further training with Ecks, which is not entirely untrue. Unusual for such a newly appointed Judge but not immediately suspect either."

"Understood," the psychic nodded as she tried not to be overwhelmed by the sheer responsibility now pressing down on her shoulders. She shut the binder with a shake of her head. If she kept reading about the suspected abilities and the known crimes or incidents caused by these people she would lose track of her walls and wind up absorbing more information from Goodman and the immediately surrounding offices than she cared to know. Let the council keep their secrets. Her job was the streets.

"You'll be removed from the main building while developing your team. Report to Ecks in Tower Argos at 0900 tomorrow morning. You'll occupy the basement levels below R&D. This information will be waiting for you there." Goodman recovered the binder. Anderson relinquished it without regret.

"I would like to request all files on psychics sir. My encounters with others like me have been limited and I wish materials with which to study."

"Of course. I'll ensure they're waiting for you. You'll also be subject to your regular tests and have a unit of Tek Division assigned under you. Ecks will handle the official briefing tomorrow."

"Yes sir," Anderson nodded.

"Anderson I want you to understand Mega City One will be making history. Other cities have dabbled a bit in developing a Psychic Division but no true, concerted effort has been made as of yet. As with all major changes, you will be subject to much scrutiny and many trying situations. You must behave at all times with a mind to posterity, and never forget that it is the Hall of Justice you serve. Do not imagine that I can protect you from the displeasure of the council. The future of this endeavor, even your very life, hinges on your decisions."

"Understood sir," she nodded and got to her feet.

"Dismissed."

Anderson closed the door behind her, her mind perfectly still like an empty lecture hall. She was alone within it and no thought rippled through the silence. In this serene thoughtlessness she only realized she had completed the elevator ride to the ground floor when sunlight lanced through her eyes with cringe inducing brightness. Reflexively she lifted a hand to ward off the worst of it and felt it illuminate the thought lurking in her stupefied serenity.

_And so I will make my fate, live or die._

The resolution settling heavy on her shoulders like an iron mantle she came down the stairs leading to the Hall of Justice's grand parking garage in search of her Lawmaster. When found she joined the choked traffic and busy sidewalks, moving in the direction of her block Parnassus. Within walking distance Anderson would have preferred to walk but it was impractical to be without her Lawmaster when she could get called to duty at any time.

On Parnassus' block, floor 20, southwest corner, number 2079 she made it to her front door to find a note taped there in anticipation of her return.

"I got Brixton's, so it can't be counted breaking and entering," was written in Colt's script. Anderson smiled as she unlocked her door and entered the hallway. There wasn't the sounds of the radio – Colt needed noise and the radio was the best she could get since Anderson didn't own a TV – so clearly Colt had come and gone. Removing her boots as she closed the door, Anderson locked up behind herself and padded into the kitchen as she worked to strip out of the protective gear in the usual trail.

"In here," was taped to the fridge. Opening it she saw the Styrofoam takeout box and a single glass bottle of Coke sitting next to it with a third note. "Congratulations!"

After a quick shower Anderson reheated the quiche, slathered it in salsa, and took it and her Coke onto the porch where she wound up spending most of her free time. As she had managed to wrangle a corner apartment she had two sides of porch. This was a precious find in the city. Twenty floors was fairly high so the traffic below was a distant sound.

Instead the sounds of her neighbors' children on either side were more common. Their laughing abandon or screaming fits of passion were raw, vital signs of life. Their presences permeated her apartment, a welcome sensation greeting her home though she lived alone. The raw strength in the emotions of these civilian children were so pure, so crystalline, that it bolstered Anderson's conviction that good was still alive in the world. The children in turn seemed to sense she was different and had dubbed her Auntie Jay, sometimes coming to the railing separating their balconies to prattle at her or ask if she'd been off battling the forces of Darkness.

Today she was left to breakfast on her own. When it was done she stood up with her Coke and leaned against the balcony rail, gazing down at the streets below. Her mind worked over the countless unknown variables of the task ahead. She wondered if she was strong enough. Exams said her telepathy was but that counted for little when she had no idea how to deal with another like her. The text books written by those without skills of their own were often empty interpretations of how things actually worked with psychic powers.

Taking a long drink Anderson felt a tingle, something she hadn't felt in a few weeks. It brought a smile to her face as she watched a Lawmaster come down the street in a throaty roar muffled by distance. Perching her chin in one hand her dark eyes followed the dot twenty stories down as it approached.

Distantly she could make out the towering 200 story Andradon block, home to many of the Judges from the 13th district. But rather than heading to or from that block, instead cutting in from a more northward direction, was a man composed in equal parts of will and anger. Ever serious, always grim, always scowling, never weak or frightened, she knew his psychological signature as sure as she knew the sun would rise in the east. Dredd on his way into the main hall rather than the sector 13's HQ.

She hadn't even spoken to him since her Assessment. The handful of times she happened to spot him his visor always managed to find her and they'd exchange nods, but the tides were always wrong for conversation. Not that conversation was exactly something Dredd sought or made time for. Still, that was enough. Her infrequent glimpses of him to or from the Hall of Justice rather than the 13th district HQ always brought a smile to her face, wry and amused that of anyone she had ever met he instilled in her a sense of trust and camaraderie unlike anything she had ever known.

Dredd came to a halt at a traffic signal just below her. For some reason as she stood staring down he looked up, the sun glinting off his helmet. She got the sense their gazes met. Lifting a hand in greeting, thinking she would feel foolish if he wasn't looking at her, she waited to see how he would react. Just as the seconds started to become hours Dredd offered her a nod. The smile bloomed across her face before Anderson could stop it.

Traffic shifted and Dredd turned back to the road. Anderson watched him go. Exhaustion crashed down over her shoulders as soon as he was out of her sensory range. Returning inside she polished off her Coke, tossed the Styrofoam, and slunk to bed feeling a bit more confidence in her resolve.


	3. The Wall of Heroes

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Judge Dredd characters, places, etc.

Chapter 3: The Wall of Heroes

Dredd sailed into the elevator on the ground floor of the Hall of Justice, ignoring the crush of other bodies and jostling uniforms. He reached through his fellow Judges and selected floor three hundred, a good fifty stories above the next highest selection. A few helmets turned towards his grimy uniform, dropped to his badge, and the elevator seemed to stand up a little straighter. Dredd didn't care.

He waited as the elevator emptied out slowly over the course of 250 floors before he was finally left to himself. His fist was curled around a bloodied badge, Diablo's name written across it. It weighed against him as so many others had, their names grafted on his memory.

This however was not the only thing on his mind. Diablo's death would be mourned by the media in particular, one of the few easily recognized Judges in the sprawling city. Del Monte's concerns were not lost on him either. Laws were bound to become convoluted if robots were augmented with human emotion and personalities. Not only that there was the very real possibility that their emotions and programming may contradict themselves. If he had his way he'd circumvent Del Monte's vow to work for AI rights by outlawing emotional programming.

The elevator finally reached the top floor with a ding and the doors opened into the familiar hallway. Dredd's thoughts were still fixed on all the civilian bodies lying in their own liquefied lungs and the ultra white smile of the demonstrator who had forced a robot to willingly destroy itself despite its protests. Such cruelties made his blood boil and fed the omnipresent anger he kept bound up in chains somewhere in his chest.

Someone grabbed his arm and attempted to pull him around. Dredd obliged and reversed the hold, twisting the offending individual around and wrenching their arm behind them. There was a muted cry before Dredd realized it was the aide who usually worked the front desk. Ariel he thought was the name. Altering his grip he relocated the shoulder with another audible crack and Ariel smothered an even louder cry, sweat standing out on his forehead.

"Is Goodman in her office?" he demanded, helping Ariel to a chair outside another office. Ariel sat wheezing, holding his shoulder. He was Dredd's elder by quite a bit, his hair gray with white streaks at the temple.

"Yes," he panted, running his good hand through his hair. Dredd felt a twinge of regret. "I was going to tell you she's in a meeting and you need an appointment but be my guest. No skin off my nose if some ill favor finds its way to you." He shot Dredd a black look with dark eyes.

"Thanks," was all he answered before resuming his trajectory. Ariel muttered a curse behind him and got back to his feet.

Goodman's door was closed but Dredd didn't really care. He knocked twice as per his custom, a friendly 'heads up' and then pushed the door open. Inside he saw Goodman was midway through pacing while her Deputy Chief Judge Cal reclined in one of her chairs like he belonged there, his golden locks curled around his head in perfect order. Goodman passed a hand over her eyes to try and subdue her frustration at his lack of decorum and perhaps to recover some composure from what must have been an arduous discussion. Cal on the other hand seemed to stare down his nose at Dredd, blue eyes sparkling like cut diamond.

"What a spectacular failure today was," Cal remarked. Goodman pinched her nose bridge this time and stalked to her window in a familiar search for patience. Hers was not unlimited though she normally had a better poker face. "I'll expect a detailed report from the Judges present." Dredd walked across the room and placed the sullied badge down on the table next to Cal with a thunk.

"There's Diablo's report, Deputy Judge Cal," Dredd replied. "Mine will be along."

"We'll add him to the Wall of Heroes," Goodman replied, her voice softened slightly with compassion though her back remained to them.

"The death of a Judge hardly constitutes an interruption by your pet, Chief Judge," Cal moved the besmirched badge a little further away with one pinky.

"Speak your peace Dredd," Goodman gave him leave. Sometimes he wondered if she wasn't glad he interrupted during these conversations with Cal and the rest of the council.

"Wex Corps has developed emotional programs for AI," Dredd answered.

"I'm aware," she nodded.

"They need to be outlawed."

Goodman didn't make an answer immediately. She moved to her desk and pressed down on the intercom.

"Ariel, will you send in Walter?"

"Sir," was the concise reply. It was unusual for Goodman to be roundabout, but then Cal had his eyes fixed on her with their cold appraisal and she was clearly through entertaining him.

"Why would you have them outlawed?" Goodman asked, sitting on an edge of her desk.

"Give a robot the feelings of a man and he'll start acting like one," Dredd replied. "Only a robot's considerably stronger and more difficult to stop once its programming goes awry."

"I believe it was a robot that managed to vent that annex chamber for you," Goodman observed.

"The risks outweigh the benefits," Dredd shook his head.

"Curious then you should have passed Judge Cassandra Anderson," Cal quipped. He had steepled his fingers and his eyes were boring into Dredd now. "Sensitive robots seem far less trouble than mind reading mutants."

"If the Special Judicial Squad has further inquiry into the matter of Peach Trees or Judge Anderson's Assessment perhaps it should set up a formal investigation," Dredd replied. "It is imperative that we restrict this development of AI now before it causes trouble, Chief Judge Goodman. It won't take long before activist groups have mandated rights for robots. I don't think the Hall of Justice needs more criminal activity."

"Chief Judge Goodman, it is Walter," came a cheerful knock on the door.

"Come in Walter," Goodman called. Dredd suppressed a growl of frustration as he waited for Goodman's attention to return.

"You take your coffee black don't you Deputy Chief Judge Cal?" Walter inquired.

"Thank you," Cal answered with his usual condescension. There was the sound of pouring and Dredd opened his mouth to speak but Goodman held up her hand.

"Walter is pleased to be of service," the pleasant alto assured him. "What can Walter get for you sir?"

"Nothing thank you..." Dredd trailed off as he turned to face a television screen. It was connected to a slightly barrel shaped robot whose chest cavity was open exposing a tap. In one three clawed hand it held a Styrofoam cup, the other having a towel draped over it in the event of a spill. The blocky feet even had toes. Dredd turned away from Walter and stared at the Chief Judge whose mouth was so carefully neutral she looked to be fighting a laugh.

"There is nothing Walter can get you sir? Walter would like very much to be of some help."

"Wex Corps upgraded one of our old serving units from the Walter model over six months before the show so we could study the programs," Goodman informed him, her tone carefully neutral. "Their models have integrated with the basic laws governing the protection of human life flawlessly. Our best minds in Tech Division have looked into it Dredd. Myself and the council voted to allow Wex Corps to progress with the technology."

"Dredd? As in the _the _Judge Dredd? Walter has read the papers about your exploits!" Walter gasped. "It is Walter's pleasure Judge Dredd. Please drink some coffee!" A cup was foisted into his hand and Dredd stared at the aromatic liquid. The robot's three clawed hands rose towards its video screen in anticipation, waiting like a child for his pronouncement. Dredd hesitated a few seconds, totally caught off guard by the reaction from an assortment of circuitry and programming, before he took a sip of the coffee. It was a good brew, particularly by the standard of what was served in mess.

"Thank you...Walter," he grated out the name.

"Oh Walter is so happy you are pleased Judge Dredd," Walter enthused.

"Walter," Chief Judge Goodman called his attention.

"Right you are Chief Judge, Walter is sorry for the distraction. It is not every day Walter meets with a legend."

Cal laughed outright as Dredd stared at the unabashed creature before him. Goodman cracked the faintest smile, taking her cup of coffee.

"Thank you Walter. You may resume your duties."

"Sir," Walter agreed. He made his way back to the door, stopped, turned to look at Dredd one last time, and then exited. Once the door was closed they heard something that sounded alarmingly like a dreamy sigh of satisfaction before the footsteps receded. Cal laughed again as Dredd stood wondering what he was supposed to do in such a situation.

"For all his personality Walter is harmless," Goodman assured Dredd as her voice trembled slightly. Dredd walked to her desk and put his coffee down.

"So are most people until they're driven to desperation. And that is almost all life in Mega City One does," he admonished seriously. The humor left Goodman's face.

"Take comfort Dredd. Only the ultra wealthy can afford something with personality like Walter or the George models. Beginning bids go for 1.5 million credits," Cal drawled, swirling his coffee with an annoyed glance at the contents. He sighed and pushed it away towards Diablo's badge. "Besides, I've seen it despair when it gets an order wrong. Troublesome thing. As if such a pitiful creature could cause harm when it can't even remember I prefer cream and sugar."

"How very human," Dredd observed. He felt the compulsion suddenly to finish his coffee and did so. "I've made my point Chief Judge Goodman." He replaced the empty cup on the desk and returned to the table where Cal reclined. He took up Diablo's badge again and moved towards the door.

"I'll expect to have that report by this evening Judge Dredd," Cal reminded him darkly. Dredd didn't dignify the remark with a response. Instead he left and moved back down the hall towards the desk where Ariel was rifling through his paperwork.

"Well?" Ariel prompted without looking up.

"Tell Walter the coffee was good," Dredd answered. Ariel shook his head. Dredd returned to the elevator and began his descent to the main floor.

When he was released with the others who had gradually filtered onto the elevator he didn't make for the garage or the front entrance, instead moving towards the Wall of Heroes. He knew the way better than he wished.

The room was enormous, vaulted ceilings stretching up almost fifty feet, expanding around him in highly polished floors and labyrinthine free standing walls to contain all the badges of those Judges killed in action. Badges were added almost daily. The red stone floors and the white walls threw sound back while at the same time managing to instill silence. Dredd stopped at the threshold and looked into the bright lighting reflecting off so many badges. The west half of the room was filled while the east stood ominously blank.

Dredd took slow, deliberate steps. The sound rushed away from him only to come bouncing back, bounding up the walls to brush the ceiling and plummet back down. He moved down one of the long aisles, half the wall already covered with badges on one side, the other wall blank. It was a grim mosaic, the room heavy with reverence and cold, as if the ghosts lingered, restless with unfinished duties.

It seemed like he'd crossed the distance between stars by the time he made it to a woman dressed in a black uniform, her light brown hair pulled up out of her face in an artful bun and glasses perched on a small nose. She had watched him approach, her hands folded next to a keyboard connected to a sleek monitor. There were threads of gray in her hair. She was older than she appeared although younger than he was. She'd come into the custody of the Wall of Heroes after failing out as a cadet. Dredd himself had failed her.

"Judge Dredd," she nodded to him, slowly rising from her chair. The wedding band on her left hand caught in the light. Over the years she'd put on a little weight, not unflattering against her hourglass smooth curves. Children had brought it, two little boys an a girl seemingly comprised of pink frills and frosting.

"Mrs. Stueck," he addressed her.

"Who was it today?" she asked, holding out both hands. They were slightly callused. It was somehow fitting that she helped craft the badges, handling everything from the paperwork to the casting of them, and then they were returned to her when the Judges were killed. He carefully placed the badge in her palms.

"Lawrence Diablo," she sighed, extracting a kerchief from her pocket and rubbing away some of the blood. "What happened?"

"Killed in pursuit of a terrorist at the Robot of the Year show," Dredd replied. Lina Stueck was far too gentle to be a Judge though she made excellent grades in all her classes. When it came down to it, actually harming another individual had been too much. When the dust had settled she had thanked him for failing her, smiling and crying in gratitude.

Lina sat back down at her desk and her little white tipped nails worked over the keyboard. Diablo's badge was set at her elbow. She would clean it before she placed it in its space.

"April 4th, 2099," she said softly as she entered the date. "Lawrence Diablo..." Dredd was patient as she filled in the information usually required in documented form. In her cadet days she was Lina Forest he reflected. The now Mrs. Stueck never made him fill out the forms, asking the handful of necessary questions of him.

"Did he have any last requests?" she asked. Dredd shook his head. If Diablo had there of course hadn't been time to voice them. "Cause of death?" Lina's eyes looked up at him imploringly, the same expression Forest had worn pleading for leniency in the sentencing of a serial killer. Dredd would never understand that compassion, the idea that no creature deserved a premature death, even those that dealt in the murder of innocents.

"Bullet to the head," he replied, leaving out the unnecessary detail of the gas. The bullet had got him first and Lina would sleep easier without thinking about Diablo drowning slowly in his own melting lungs. Lina nodded, entering the information. She was the perfect Angel of Death he reflected, compassionate of all the dead, feeling the loss of every soul without discrimination. No, she would have been a miserable Judge but she was an excellent keeper of the dead, lovingly compiling their memories and logging their exploits so they may not be forgotten.

There were a few other questions before Lina had completed her report. She submitted the information and carefully placed the badge in a shallow dish of cleaning solution before coming around her desk to stand next to him and stare at the many walls.

"How are your children?" Dredd asked to pull her away from dark thoughts.

"Oh very well. Lucie just had a birthday party and we're lamenting the allowance of glitter. Still working it out of the carpets two days later. Little Harold is almost through fifth grade now and Mark will finish third. Lucie's excited to have them home again for the summer. She misses them."

"Samson's had less work?"

"Ah, Samson," Lina sighed, lacing he fingers together and looking down at her doll shoes. "I know you're going to say I'm naïve but we're separating. He, well...he was up to his third mistress." Dredd tilted his head. "I didn't tell you about the other two because I knew what you'd say after the first time I forgave him."

"You're not a cadet anymore Forest," he switched to her maiden name. She smiled down at her shoes, hooking some loose bangs behind one ear with a small pearl dangling from it.

"Yes but you'll always tell me straight and I just...wanted to believe that I was a successful wife where I couldn't be a successful Judge."

Dredd considered an answer to that. He highly doubted compassionate Lina who consoled grieving families and looked after the memories of men and women who at some point became faceless to everyone else would have been a negligent wife. He'd seen her children, well behaved for civilians especially, polite, groomed, and most importantly happy. She weighed her decisions carefully, looking for the most justice, the most forgiveness and kindness she could fold into them, and he had never once heard her complain of anything.

"You're a successful human, which makes you a rare breed," he said at last. She pressed her lips together and let her bangs fall into her face. It took a moment for her to regain her composure.

"You're one of the very best men I've ever met Judge Dredd," she said when she finally looked up, smiling with a cherubic beauty. She removed the ring from her finger and set it on the desk before going back and collecting Diablo's badge. Drying it very carefully she held it back out to him and he followed her down to the next place on the wall. Lina pulled the ladder over and Dredd ascended almost fifteen feet to hang Diablo's badge in its place. He came back down and the pair of them folded their hands and lowered their heads in a moment of silence.

"Take care of yourself Forest," he said when the moment had passed.

"Thank you Judge Dredd. I love seeing you but please don't come back soon unless its a coffee you're carrying," she smiled up at him. He nodded to her, glanced up at the wall one last time, and tuned away to walk across the echoing floor.


	4. Tower Argos

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Judge Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N: ** This is an unusually long chapter. It was originally meant to be two but I like to flip between perspectives each chapter and didn't want to break the rhythm... :D

Chapter 4: Tower Argos

Tower Argos was not nearly a tower as compared to most of the blocks nearby and a far cry from the glimmering three hundred floors of steel and glass that elegantly comprised the Hall of Justice itself. Still, fifty stories was nothing to sneeze at when one was only human sized. Tek Division's R&D was mostly done here, surrounded by warehouses and manufacturing plants. If anything went wrong – and sometimes it did – there was considerably less in the immediate proximity to damage.

This was somehow reassuring and frightening at the same time. Anderson had parked her Lawmaster in the secured parking deck and now came around the building to the front lobby. Not quite sure where to meet Ecks she hoped there would be something of a reception desk where she might ask.

Inside everything seemed to be made of steel and plastic in a grim refusal to provide flammable material. Anderson highly doubted these materials would save them, willing to bet there were chemicals that would burn on their own stored in alarming quantities on one of these floors. Coming across the stone floor, inlaid with a great crest for Tek Division, she stopped at the metal desk and looked at the brown uniformed aide manning it. Young, ruffled brown hair a bit long, brown eyes, sharp jawline, he was unremarkable except for the obvious intelligence in his eyes.

"How can I help you?" he inquired.

"I'm here to meet with Judge Ecks," she replied. His eyes darted to the badge on her chest before pulling something up on one of his computers. After a quick skim through the information and another glance at her he opened a drawer to his right. Rummaging he turned up an ID badge which he passed to her.

"This'll get you into the basement level assigned you. Its B5. It also will grant you access to the third floor where the infirmary is. Beyond those floors and this one you lack clearance," he explained, holding her gaze.

"Thank you," she accepted the key card imprinted with her name and an ID number. She crossed the stone floors to the elevator, pressing the down key. Dressed in full street gear with her helmet in place, the Lawgiver at her side, she drew comfort from the now familiar uniform. She would build Psi-Division and it would be a force to be reckoned with. After all, this was why they'd trained her at the Academy. She could work in ways no Judge before her ever could.

Once the elevator had arrived she stepped in and inserted her ID card before selecting B5, figuring this was the most likely place to find Ecks. As the doors closed she removed her helmet with a sigh, shaking disheveled hair back out of her eyes. It was a short trip before the doors opened and she entered what looked like a warehouse illuminated in florescent lighting.

There were a total of eight desks settled on the concrete floors, and against the back wall stood a line of lockers. There were doors to either side leading who knew where, but Anderson was interested in the other Judge standing over one of the desks with folded arms.

"Judge Ecks?" Anderson inquired as she approached. It was a receding salt and pepper hair line she noticed first, followed closely by dark eyes fixing on her as Judge Ecks turned. The immediate sense she got was dedication, overall calmness like a sturdy mountainside coupled with a serenity that suggested it took quite a bit to ruffle him.

"Anderson," Ecks greeted in return. He extended a hand to her and as she took it his firm shake was accompanied by rough calluses scraping her glove and gentleness in tandem. "Welcome. Its a pleasure to meet you at last. You've caused quite a stir between your psychic abilities and passing one of the most arduous field assessments under Judge Dredd himself. Those are recommendations few could boast."

"Thank you sir. The pleasure's mine," she assured him, pulling her hand back and placing her helmet on the table beside his. "Chief Judge Goodman said that you had some psychic ability," she remarked, wondering if she should have mentioned it. Ecks offered her a smile, crows feet standing out around his eyes.

"Barely. Its very weak and comes and goes, little more than the ability to sense the presence of another in close proximity. I have no access to their thoughts, a vague sense of their emotions, and overall it sits quite useless unless its in good form and I'm running an interrogation. It does help ascertain whether one is lying or not. It also makes me the closest thing to qualified for assisting in the development of Psi-Division."

"Glad to have you sir," Anderson nodded. Ecks smiled again faintly and looked back at the sheets spread over his desk.

"Goodman wishes for us to begin immediately but...how much did she tell you about Psi-Division?"

"We're the first unit of our kind and our position is...delicate," Anderson replied after a hesitation in search of the correct word. Ecks nodded.

"Meaning if we make a mistake, we may well be sentenced to time on Titan or worse. I don't know about you Anderson but I rather like Earth and our fair, if troubled, Mega City One."

"No argument there sir."

"As I said my abilities are somewhat limited but I have come up against other psychics before in my time. Its a very different animal trying to fight one of them. I know you underwent some preparatory work but I feel it hardly prepares you for what could be out there. This list is comprised of some very powerful, very _dangerous_ individuals. I would rather take some time cutting your teeth on psychic combat. In light of that our first order of business is to introduce you to our Tek Division support and get you a physical so we can measure your before and after progress."

"How are we to go about combat?" Anderson tilted her head as Ecks beckoned her after him.

"You won't need your helmet," Ecks added as she moved to pick it up. So she trotted to catch up as he pressed the key to the elevator. "There is a particular clinic close by the westernmost frontier of the city. Its beyond the reach of any residual radiation but this particular clinic caters specifically to mutants and residents outside the Wall. Its a charity clinic but the chief physician there owes me a favor. He should be able to connect you with another psychic. How receptive that psychic will be to training a Judge is another matter."

"I'll make it work," Anderson answered because there wasn't another option. She much preferred the opportunity for a bit of training before possibly going toe to toe with some of the names on that list.

"Excellent," Ecks motioned her ahead of him into the elevator. "The head of our Tek Division unit is Dante Ognibene. He generally goes by Ben since people have trouble with his name. There's a total of six, all at our disposal for the sake of figuring the best way to contain whatever we encounter."

_'We'll be offering up the research for our own containment and demise,'_ Anderson thought soberly. She didn't venture this point, figuring Ecks knew it as well as she did and that it was just another part of her duty. Every Judge had to be careful not to get carried away with their almost absolute power over the civilians they served. Psi-Division would be no different.

"The man you'll be most interested in though is Baatar Al-Sayid. He's an expert in simulations and programming. He's also devised most of the containment strategies for our present psychic inmates. Not to mention he's rather attuned to working with alternate senses."

Anderson wanted to ask what he meant when the doors opened on the third floor revealing the sterile, white washed halls of the infirmary. Ecks motioned her ahead of him, one hand holding the elevator doors at bay as if they threatened to snap shut. Anderson noted it as a strangely genuine gesture, waiting as he fell in beside her with his hands clasped at the small of his back almost thoughtfully.

"Can you tell me how many people are beyond that door and identify their divisions?" Ecks asked just as she was getting back to asking her question. Anderson's dark eyes fixed on a door to their right, six rooms down from the elevator. Rather than lowering her defenses – no sense in brushing against so many minds unnecessarily – she rather channeled her telepathy through a small breach, directing it through the room. She found its confines easily enough in the sense of the others present and their understanding of the bounds surrounding them. It was not so much a "view" of the room as a sense that she was standing in their skin, aware of their surroundings in a peripheral sort of way.

Medics and Teks had a strikingly similar organizational pattern in the layout of their thoughts. She wasn't interested in the surface level thoughts, nor was she concerned with memories they held dear. Sinking deeper, into the long term memory, into knowledge so deeply ingrained it was akin to the ability of muscles used to a familiar combat maneuver or the act of performing a task that no longer required thoughts, she picked up on the cues of their profession.

"Four of Tek Division," she answered, seeing diagrams and mathematical equations with the same sense of clarity as when she read the words in her dictionary. "Four nurses, a doctor, and...a medical technician running the samples through testing gear." Medics seemed to see the body and its systems in as complicated a terminology as the Teks saw their electronic diagrams. Both mindsets were analytical, dissecting, and frequently very passionate about a particular aspect and almost lovingly attentive to the details that made systems work, where by the same token they could be utterly emotionless about a set issue.

Ecks only lifted his eyebrows as she retracted her senses and tucked them back behind her defenses. Pressing his ID against a panel the door slid back to unveil exactly that number of peoples and professions. With a satisfied nod Ecks again gestured her ahead of him.

The Tek Division men were in varying states of undress, all of them looking curiously at the pair of Judges entering the room. One hopped up to salute Ecks, his eyes flicking to Anderson several times in a mixture of pleasant surprise and skepticism. The others remained where they were, somewhere in the middle of having blood samples taken, but saluted anyway.

"Narciso Rosenberg, Alex Olvrisson, Isaac Voll, and Fritz Radkov," Ecks indicated them from left to right, the standing man being Isaac Voll. "Gentlemen, may I introduce Judge Cassandra Anderson," he gestured back to her.

"Sir," Voll gave her another salute as the other three sat staring critically.

"Awful pretty for a mutie," Radkov leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. Anderson could see the way his blue eyes were hunting for a reaction, waiting for one the way a wolf waited for a doe to resume grazing. The room seemed to have stopped breathing.

"Against regulations and," Anderson made a point of looking over him slowly from head to toe, inwardly appreciating the natural strength of a swimmer's build. None of this showed on her face as she matched his stare. "Certainly not anything worth the risk."

Radkov sat up with an arrogant, annoyed lift of his cleft chin as Voll and Olvrisson both laughed the tension out of the room in genuine amusement. Rosenberg remained absolutely silent, cutting black eyes totally unreadable.

"Don't be mad she burned you Radkov. I'da punched you if I was her," Voll assured him still laughing. He was the tallest and whipcord thin, his fingers long and the nail beds saturated in oil. Brown hair in a burr he had unusually thick eyebrows, a dusting of freckles, and high cheeks. Radkov glared at her, handsome with the thick dark curls like a Roman statue.

"Sir," Olvrisson snickered, giving her something of a mock salute. There was distrust in his eyes but not the open animosity of Radkov. His hair was a rusty brown color and perfectly straight, his features Eurasian and tanned, lightly scarred with pock marks from bad acne in his adolescence.

Rosenberg stood up as the nurse freed him of the needle and wrapped the puncture with bright green tape and a patch of gauze. Average height, lean without being scrawny with red hair just long enough to manage being disheveled, he moved gracefully as he offered a proper salute.

"Weapons R&D, Judge Anderson," he said simply. "I keep munitions and work out the best tools to stop our opposition."

"Muties," Radkov corrected before Anderson could fully appreciate the term 'opposition'. She bit back on any number of retorts and let it go. Rosenberg didn't react, collecting his shirt and pulling it on.

"Lawmasters here," Voll hurriedly interjected, as if concerned Anderson might turn on Radkov. The tall man seemed to feel Radkov would deserve it by the flicker of distaste shooting across his face. "Or anything you might need to get from point A to point B. Can pretty much fix anything with an engine and wheels Judge Anderson. Olvrisson and I both sir. I'm a better shot though, if you need someone in combat."

"Horn dog," Olvrisson rolled his eyes before looking at Anderson sideways. He almost said something more but shut his mouth and went back to a mocking glare at his counterpart.

"Why even tell her? She's a psychic. She should be able to figure it out," Radkov stood up too now that he was released.

"Explosives," Anderson supplied. The whole room went silent again. "I can smell the gunpowder from here and the chemical burn on your shoulder is a common pattern for explosives experts. The dead giveaway though was your tattoo. You served the Explosive Ordinance Division during the war with Texas City. The vulture clutching a torch and chains, the mark of Prometheus who gave mankind fire in Greek Mythology."

Radkov pulled his shirt on in silence.

"I'm not sure if you studying my mind of my physique is worse," he said at length.

"You'd make a flabby Street Judge," she replied with another head to toe inspection. He was in great shape but Street Judges seemed to lack any excess fat. It was skin and sinew. Radkov was healthy, handsome, built incredibly well, but he was no Judge.

"That'll be enough Radkov," Ecks finally stepped in, his voice firm. His eyes slid to Anderson and then back to Radkov. "The next one goes on your record for discrimination and harassment. I guarantee your pissing contest would end badly for you in a fight." Radkov opened his mouth. "Or would you like a demerit?" Radkov shut his mouth. "I thank you all for your good manners and warm welcome but I think you have duties to mind. Rosenberg, give Anderson's Lawgiver a tune up and the best you've got against a telepath. Olvrisson, Voll, I want that Lawmaster fully tuned up in an hour, and as for you Radkov, find me Ben and Al-Sayid."

"Sir!" They all chorused. Radkov stalked past like a caged tiger clawing the earth in futile rage. Voll gave her a dopey grin as he loped by, Olvrisson avoided her gaze altogether, and Rosenberg stopped before her. She pulled off her holster, feeling naked suddenly, and handed it to him. Rosenberg turned it over with a critical eye so familiar with the weapon that he needed only a few seconds.

"I'll fix the alignment. She'll shoot straight," he informed her. She felt somehow this was a reprimand and only nodded. Rosenberg departed after that and Anderson headed for one of the vacated spots where the nurses converged on her.

"I wondered how you'd handle yourself," Ecks remarked as she shirked her outer jacket. He took it and she sat patiently in an undershirt as the nurse secured a tourniquet. "Radkov will give you problems but I think the other three are willing to give you a shot."

"I'm not worried about it sir. Actions speak louder than words."

"Did you read his mind?" Ecks inquired.

"No sir. That's prying. I try to keep out of people's heads as much as I can."

"Why?"

"You mean apart from it being a misuse of my ability?" Ecks gave her a nod with a smile that seemed to say 'of course'. "People think some strange things. I prefer to hear only the things they've filtered enough to express aloud."

"What are most people thinking about?"

"Sex. After that it varies."

Ecks smiled, possibly because her statement was made without a note of criticism or judgment. It was just a fact she had set on the table as if remarking on the temperature. He stepped a few paces away before settling in a nearby chair.

Anderson submit herself to the physical with stoic familiarity. She was just finishing when the door opened and in stepped two more men, one tall and blond, the other with skin like peat and a thick gathering of braids at the nape of his neck. Ecks got up as they approached, Anderson sliding her jacket onto her shoulders.

"Dante Ognibene, the head of our Tek Division unit," Ecks indicated the black man. "And Baatar Al-Sayid."

Anderson nodded at Ognibene but her attention was immediately caught by Al-Sayid. Not because he was six feet of blond hair, green eyed, scruffy muscle but because there was something immediately different about the way he was wired. She couldn't place it, something about him preternaturally tuned to his surroundings.

"Call me Ben," Ognibene held out a hand. Anderson took it and smiled, her attention still focused entirely on Al-Sayid. "Anything you need from the department ask. My specialty lies in programming systems – that includes the AI in your Lawmaster bike and the voice commands in the Lawgiver, and I do quite a bit of the maintenance on databases. All the data you gather in the field I store. Al here takes it and makes you face your worst fears." Ben flashed a starkly white smile, his features handsome in a blue-black face. He could have been a king from some of the fragmented folklore preserved from Africa.

"Go ahead. See if you can figure it out," Al-Sayid suggested, staring down at her intently. He had a strange accent, almost a lisp. She frowned faintly. "Use it. I want to see how good you are. Use your 'gift'." The way he said it was almost a sneer.

Anderson hesitated a fraction of a second before she allowed a crack in her defenses and offered out one tendril of thought, the vaguest wisp to brush his consciousness. It was immediately different from anything she had directly encountered. On the periphery she had felt similar things but there was never time for a full exploration.

Al-Sayid lifted his eyebrows when she narrowed her eyes. Sinking through the vaguely alien thoughts, somehow a strange mixture of unnatural loudness and focused images with attention to detail, she tried to work out his thought patterns.

He was busy confusing his mind in other thoughts to obscure the answer. Offering a bit more force to her exploratory awareness she sank beneath that and settled into a language comprised not of sound but movement and position.

"You're deaf," she looked up at last. "Born deaf. It was fixed but you...are not overly fond of noise."

Al-Sayid held out one callused palm. She put her hand into it and as he shook he stared at her with piercing eyes.

"That last bit isn't in my file," he remarked, searching her face as if in search of trickery.

"Muscles are easier to trust than words," she translated a general feeling she sensed from him. His muscles tightened in an evident display of surprise.

"Come with me. I want to map your brain. Judge Ecks?"

"I was going to hand her to you anyway," Ecks shrugged.

* * *

Al-Sayid hadn't spoken another word once they'd departed. Arriving in what Anderson decided to call his command center – a meticulously clean and organized space with numerous computers running on programming not standard issue for the Hall of Justice – he had set her on a stool and proceeded to paste electrodes at either temple and settle her in a funny looking helmet tangled with wires braided back to another computer. And for the last half hour she had been sitting patiently, blinking only when necessary and remaining as still as possible.

"I don't want you to make a habit of it, but I want to get imaging of your brain when you're using your abilities. I'm going to ask you questions in my head and you answer them. With your ability mind you, not aloud. You can do that right?"

_'Yes,' _she responded in the desired fashion. Al-Sayid winced as if she'd shouted._ 'Too loud?'_

Rather than an answer in words she got back the sensation, one of bewilderment, curiosity, excitement, and the barest hint of surprise at the 'feel' of words from someone who had always conversed in them. She gathered that Al-Sayid still considered speaking a secondary means of communication. This would prove an interesting exercise.

Al-Sayid started essentially by inquiring after her identity. Though it took a bit of sifting through his 'phrasing' and several wrong answers – _'Judge', 'female', 'psychic', 'human' –_ she eventually ascertained he was after her name. She could even feel in her muscles the sign term for 'name' but as he had learned the word without sound he had roughly equated it to the concept of 'identity'. Unused to clarifying his thoughts she sensed his frustration and saw it in the way his eyebrows drew together, as if to confer.

"For someone who drops eaves on everyone's thoughts that took a while," he put his hands on his hips and scowled.

_'You think in another language,'_ she replied, continuing the link. _'More concepts and sensation, less direct terms. That and direct communications via thought are...people don't generally care for such an overt link. Telling someone what they're thinking is one thing, projecting my thoughts into their mind is another.'_

A smile jerked at one corner of Al-Sayid's mouth at that. He crossed his arms and carefully pulled his thoughts together, ordering them this time as obsessively as he maintained his workspace.

_Recite your Judge Identification and list for me the details of your last duty shift._

Anderson was more interested in the echoes of sign language as he first thought through the signs and translated them into words, this time exaggerated so he could be sure to mentally articulate each syllable for her. It was her turn to smile.

After thoroughly relating the events and rulings, the circumstances she felt at liberty to discuss, and answering Al-Sayid's questions she was amazed how tired she felt. For his part Al-Sayid was a mixture of excited and wary. Forgetting himself a moment he signed to her.

_'Am I to be your pet lab rat?'_ she teased, understanding the signs as "that was remarkable!". Al-Sayid took a second to realize he had remarked in sign language.

"Let us have a look at your brain map before we decide that. Cindy may always prove my favorite lab rat," he indicated a spacious cage Anderson had been too preoccupied to notice before. An albino rat was napping amidst a nest of shredded cardboard and tissue, settled underneath an artificial rock overhang. Al-Sayid removed the electrodes from her temples and lifted the helmet as gently as a priest might handle a crown at a coronation. Setting it aside he motioned her after him to the computer screen.

Anderson studied the colors over his shoulder as she mulled over what sorts of experiments Al-Sayid had performed on Cindy. She looked well fed and content, healthy, and far too calm for any strenuous testing. Animal rights were not necessarily a consideration for R&D but Cindy looked to have made out pretty well.

"I think we have a pretty good map here," Al-Sayid remarked. "These are your major areas of activity, functionality at an astronomical level compared to what is normally exhibited in the mind of a non-psychic. I would like to devise an overlay for your helmet that can record your brain activity during a shift. It'll be the easiest way to track your progress or, theoretically, to notice the effects of another psychic on you. We don't know very much about these things. Psychics are notoriously difficult when it comes to cooperation."

"If you can come up with something that doesn't require my helmet you would have more concrete results. I try to wear it but having it on dampens my ability. I'm more likely to pull it off at a critical moment for better clarity," Anderson suggested. Al-Sayid turned to look at her, his green eyes narrowing. She could feel his thoughts shifting behind the calculating malachite irises and realized she had left her defenses down. Quickly withdrawing behind her walls she waited to hear his decision.

"Then two things," he held up the same number of square fingers as the other hand rubbed at his stubble. "Its foolish not to wear your helmet but I understand that sometimes you need all your strength. I'll make something that can fit onto your scalp somehow. But then I am going to make you a helmet for training specifically designed to dampen your ability. You will spend two hours after every shift – two hours of _your_ time – here with me when you are tired to make it stronger. Like a muscle."

"Have I offended you so?" she let a smile creep over her features. Al-Sayid laced his fingers and looked again at her brain map.

"Ecks selected Ognibene who in turn hand picked this team. We've been briefed on what we're up against, on what _you're_ going to face. I devised most of the containment for the incarcerated psychics and the cost of failure is blood. You I can learn from and in turn keep safe so you can keep the city safe. Things happen in this city, some of it beyond the reach of even your average Judge. You're different."

Anderson felt the echoes of memory in the ghostly residual sense of emotion. Sorrow, regret, self-blame, and a binding desire to learn from the past to protect the future. Hope too.

"Two hours after every shift," Anderson nodded soberly. "You'll have it." Al-Sayid glanced back at her before he leaned towards a drawer and pulled it open. Rummaging through it he handed her a small recorder barely the size of her thumb.

"Keep a verbal account of _your_ take on your psychic activity," Al-Sayid instructed. "We'll go through it together. Even if its embarrassing, please be sure to record it. In exchange, though I am uneasy about it, when we're working together I would like most of our communication to be psychic. Which means during our sessions, or when you are in the building, make a habit of finding my mind. This too will help with your psychic strength and I think it would be good for you to become familiar with locating particular minds. Especially in crises."

"Are you certain? I will inadvertently learn quite a bit about you."

"My privacy is a small price to pay. If a thought is embarrassing just don't bring it up." Al-Sayid shrugged. "I'll never know the difference. In turn perhaps I can learn something that might work as a basic protection against you."

"Your previous tactic of listing programs was a good start."

"Didn't stop you," Al-Sayid shrugged.

_'We'll work it,'_ she projected. He almost smiled but she didn't need the physical cue. His wry appreciation came through, along with anticipation of their work and trepidation at the loss of privacy. _'I'll do my best to be a good house guest.'_

_I will make one for me too. _She understood the reference because the concept of the device for her portable brain monitoring system flashed in a series of ideas. _Then we can see what happens on both ends. A curious study._

_'I'm going to report in to Ecks unless you had further use of me?'_

_No. Maintain your connection to me as long as you can. Give me your Argos Access Card._

She proffered it and he swiped it against a pad near his computer. Keying through assorted prompts in whatever programming language he used he entered in a command on one of them.

_There_. The single word conveyed that she now had access to reach this floor, the eighth, but only his lab tucked away in its catacomb belly.

_'Thank you.'_

Anderson got up and made for the door. Al-Sayid was already thinking about making his devices, worried about getting it done before she was dispatched on duty. Every last bit of information was precious, time weighing on him as enthusiasm spurred his mind in a thousand directions, skimming all his knowledge and theories like countless hands turning over colorful fragments washed up on a beach. As many were collected as thrown away, gathered in a central location that managed to process them at the same time as he sought out more possibly useful information. He was brilliant she realized, able to function at an almost unparalleled level merging the ideas of neurology and technology. Ben might program her AI but she would be wiling to bet Al-Sayid cold make a cutting edge AI the likes of which the world had never before seen.

It took a moment to orient herself to maintaining such a detailed connection without letting it consume her thoughts. With effort she managed to set it to one side as a hum – she didn't need direct information to all his thoughts. That was just plain rude. When she could concentrate on her surroundings she wove back through the hallways and arrived at the elevator, keen on plunging back down to the lair. The lair? That was a direct spill over from Al-Sayid she realized. He counted it a lair, not without a degree of wary respect and a touch of fear, the soon to be inhabitants certainly worthy of the term 'beasts'.

Well, it was a kinder term than most people would grant. It was less a visceral insult and more a label containing a healthy recognition of the potential danger with a mind to the boon. She at least was not just a tool to him, but a living, breathing, sentient being he would be required to work with, not command or dissect. His application made her somewhat appreciative.

_'Three floor max for communication,' _she informed him just before he faded out of reach, startling him. In another four floors he was beyond even the feel. She groped for him, even when the doors opened into her basement level. She was so focused the elevator doors were closing on her again when someone reached in and caught them. With a loud mental pop she was suddenly faced with the presence of Radkov, glaring down his roman features at her.

"Spying?" he asked as she shoved his disgust and anger out of her head.

"Thinking," she rebutted, stepping past him. Radkov followed her several steps back as she moved towards Ecks and Ben standing over the profiles.

"We'll need a database set up particular to our department," Ecks was saying as Ben nodded, the Tek Division Unit Chief sitting on the desk. His arms were folded across his chest, eyes slightly narrowed as he considered the possibilities. "And we'll have to come up with something to catch cases amidst the calls, some way of recognizing patterns likely to pertain to crimes involving psychics."

"That'll take time to perfect but I've got a start on it. The algorithms will have to evolve but the more cases we encounter the more accurate the system."

"Perfect." Ecks turned to face her. "Anderson. How did it go?"

"Informative," Anderson answered.

"Al-Sayid likes his lab rats," Radkov sniped as he sat down at one of the desks where an assortment of information was up on the screen involving cases of pyrokinesis. She let it go as Ben rolled his eyes. Ecks' expression had closed up but he glanced at Anderson who shrugged. He gave her a significant raise of his eyebrows, like a father suggesting she might come to him if it got bad. She shrugged again.

"Let me get you some information about the clinic I'm sending you to and the surrounding area so you won't be going in blind. After the briefing you'll be dismissed to return home and pack. I've decided you'll be gone a month and have already contacted the head physician."

"Understood," she nodded.

"I'll be back to work then sir," Ben stood up. Ecks nodded. "We're sending Rosenberg and Radkov with you as support Judge Anderson. They're both fair fighters if you need support and they'll also be developing your offensive weaponry against psychics in the future." She nodded this time, masking her displeasure at the thought of a month in Radkov's company. Ben stood up and saluted before departing. Ecks motioned for her to follow him out of the bull pen and into a closed office, leaving Radkov to study his information in peace.

"Watch Radkov," he advised when the door was shut. Anderson just shrugged.

"We'll work it out."

"Good. I pulled up your marks on the 'Hot Dog Run' during your days as a cadet," he began in a surprising secant.

"I'm going to be spending some time on the other side of the Wall," she surmised.

"Exactly. Zacarias Hargrave is uniquely poised to introduce you to potential trainers and opportunities for combat against psychics. Its also why we're sending Radkov and Rosenberg as back up. They're combat trained and veterans to boot. Al-Sayid wanted to accompany you in the interest of research but I'm afraid he's too valuable. He's a decent combatant but he's the only one with such a particular set of skills."

"His mind works very differently," Anderson agreed.

"Is there anyone of the Judges you've worked with you would take with you? We need to form some trustworthy connections with other departments, some who are trained to recognize psychic disturbances and know when to call us in."

Dredd.

Anderson curbed herself before the automatic response could escape. She pressed her lips together thinking it would seem to her comrade that she felt he was a security blanket. Or worse. Dredd was needed here in the city desperately. Additionally she knew he was familiar with her particular talents and would know when to call for back up once Psi-Division was established. As their mission was equally as likely to be idle as violent Dredd would most likely feel he was being underutilized in the Cursed Earth.

"Rosalyn Colt or Iraj Kadivar are the only two Judges I know I can immediately trust with this secret, in the 140th and 58th sir. I know them personally. But I imagine anyone assigned would be suitable."

"They were your first thought?" Ecks smiled wryly. Anderson frowned faintly. "I was certain you would have requested Dredd."

"Dredd is needed here sir. Its true my trust in him is absolute, but the city needs him. He knows what I am and I am sure he would know if he needed the assistance of Psi-Division. There's nothing for him to learn from such an excursion."

"I made a request for his assignment to the excursion anyway. At the very least he could observe the local political atmosphere. Things are ever shifting in the Atomic Wastes. You need someone you can absolutely trust as there's the potential of really killing you in this method of training. The Cursed Earth is a savage place to learn but since mutants are kept outside the wall its an unavoidable risk. Particularly if I want you operating at maximum efficiency."

"Understood," was all she knew to respond. There was a streak of relief that threatened to slacken her posture but at the same time she felt her middle tense with worry. She had a sneaking suspicion Dredd would be less than pleased.

Ecks went over the details on Zacarias Hargrave and his voyages to offer medicine to the assorted shanty towns set up beyond the Wall. Sometimes he ventured deeper into the territory on the rough equivalent of a Mission, towards settlements scattered in safe zones as far as two hundred miles out, but for this month they would keep to the larger settlements about sixty miles away. That was more than enough territory to cover. She studied the maps of where exactly they would start and the vague information available.

"I want you to report in to Goodman of our progress so far and give her the parameters of your assignment. She'll let you know if Dredd will be accompanying you and if not she can work out the assignment of either of these two Judges you mentioned to us temporarily. This is all very hush hush so nothing is being submitted in the database."

_Easier to erase us if we fail,_ she realized quietly.

"It'll take the better part of the day to traverse the city tomorrow. You're set to meet at 1800 at Hargrave's clinic. Stop here to collect any recording devices from Al-Sayid on the way."

"Sir," Anderson nodded.

"Good luck Anderson. You'll need it. I'll be prioritizing our interviews and assisting in compiling patterns for our database in the mean time. Make sure you keep in contact when communications allow. Radkov and Rosenberg should be able to at least rig something to get you in touch. Dismissed."


	5. Orders

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Judge Dredd characters, places, etc.

Chapter 5: Orders

Dredd wasn't usually summoned to Chief Judge Goodman's office unless something irregular had occurred, certainly not on the very next shift after he'd been there to speak his mind. His work was the streets and he was generally left to it undisturbed. More often than not he was the one who found his way to the Chief Judge to discuss pertinent matters.

Without bothering to say anything to Ariel he breezed along the hallways. Ariel called something after him, a general objection to his stalking in like he owned the floor, but didn't bother getting up today. Goodman's office was closed but Dredd let himself in. He was expected after all.

The Chief Judge wasn't surprised, her eyes flicking over her shoulder as she stood studying her impressive view. The day was getting on, sun soaking the floors and illuminating her dark eyes. Dredd had been on his way to start a shift when he'd received the summons.

"Psi-Division is under construction," she announced without preamble. Interesting but not something that concerned him beyond a vague sense that it was madness. Anderson was trustworthy but the risk was too great for more in his mind. "Ecks is the Division Chief." A fair choice. Even keel, good judgment, an excellent Street Judge in his day, and would probably work well with Anderson. He didn't seem the type to allow prejudices to interfere.

"Is that all?" Dredd asked, at a loss for why he needed to know. It was an established fact that he deemed her a suitable Judge and yes, he was...proud was maybe too strong a word, but he was interested in her career and expected great things.

"No," Goodman turned around now and studied him from top to bottom. He remained still, waiting to hear what she had to say. "Ecks is sending her outside the Wall into the shanty towns."

"Trouble there?"

"Nothing that's come to our attention as more than normal. Its for the express purpose of training her. He feels the modules and simulations presently available are inadequate to prepare her for potential threats."

Anderson was solid. Since her Assessment there were a few times he would have preferred to have her at his back rather than the more seasoned aid that had come to his call. The shanties were dangerous certainly, and there was no back up that could reach her, but he'd seen her at work. Not only would she be fine, she would come out of it stronger.

"Good," he answered.

"You're going."

"To what end? Anderson can handle herself."

"Anderson is highly valuable. Not only is she a powerful psychic she's loyal. We need her. I trust her to face any challenges but she needs someone there with substantial experience and training to have her back. There are two members of Tek Division accompanying her, both of them combat veterans, but she will be at her most vulnerable pushing her skills to the limits."

"There are plenty of qualified combat veterans. My work is here."

"Yes but she's comfortable with you."

It seemed out of character for Anderson to have requested this. Behind the visor his eyes narrowed, head tilting to one side at Goodman. The Chief Judge didn't balk at his study like most. Instead she crossed to her desk and extracted from one of the drawers a sheaf of paper. Her dark eyes skimmed it before she came to him. Dredd accepted the page slowly before dropping his eyes to the report.

"And you obviously work very well with her. Psi-Division needs all the allies it can get, Dredd," Goodman said softly when he looked up from reading the analysis of their performance together. It had been compiled after the Peach Trees surveillance footage was recovered when the block was reopened. After the charges of corrupt Judges were brought and their bodies recovered an investigation had been necessary. Between the communications from their glove comms, the surveillance footage, and statements from assorted witnesses Dredd and Anderson had been cleared of any foul play. This page was a summary of their team work, their compatibility even. The first few lines suggested this analysis was important as an additional study of Anderson as a psychic.

"Its an order," Goodman held up her hand as he began forming an objection. "Accompany Anderson and support her during her training. Mega City One will be better for it. If you need some extra task you can make it your job to assess security measures at the Wall and take a survey of the local governing structures of the assorted communities you'll be visiting."

"If she's going be learning on the fly better to have her working the streets like she's been doing," Dredd responded with a slight curl of his lip.

"The theory is she might find a peaceful teacher."

"More likely its a baptism by fire. She's about as human as they come minus her mind reading. Muties won't be interested in teaching her to work for 'norms'. They'll tear her apart if they have a chance."

"Precisely why you'll go with her," Goodman shrugged. "The pair of you made it out of Peach Trees, hardly less than a baptism by fire. Now I'm expecting her in just a few minutes to report in. You can either stay here and argue with me – fruitless, I assure you – or you can take your leave and make preparations for a month in the Cursed Earth. I suppose it depends on whether you have something to discuss with her."

Dredd curbed his immediate impulse to flat out refuse. Goodman waited, seeming to expect further argument. He had a shift he should be getting to but instead he was being kicked onto the other side of the Boundary Wall to essentially go and deliberately stir up some trouble for Anderson. This seemed entirely a fool plan, though not so monumentally stupid as instituting a group of mutants within the Hall of Justice and putting all the weight on Anderson alone to sift through the good and bad. Even with her skills it was an enormous burden.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Goodman called as Dredd looked over his shoulder. The door pushed open to reveal the tawny curls of Anderson's helmet free head. She looked between Goodman and Dredd, her shoulders set to bolster her confidence. She glanced at him a second time and gave him a little nod, tense. Clearly she was expecting a negative reaction.

"Sir, I can come back later if you weren't finished," she addressed Goodman.

"No need. Dredd was just agreeing to accompany you."

"With all due respect sir, Judge Dredd is needed here in the city. This task falls to Psi-Division and I wouldn't have us start out pulling much needed manpower from the streets."

"Not worried then?" Goodman raised one eyebrow as Dredd felt a spark of curiosity.

"The task and the challenge is mine sir. Its only my next step," she shook her head, unconsciously falling into a parade rest with her helmet held behind her. Her eyes remained fixed on Goodman waiting for an answer in return.

"All the same I'm assigning him. I can't help but agree with Ecks that the pair of you working together will benefit the infant stages of Psi-Division. Now, lets have your report Anderson and you can fill Dredd in on the details of your assignment afterward."

"Sir, Psi-Division is in the beginning stages of developing its own databases and algorithms to identify patterns of crime most likely to indicate psychic activity. Tek Division's Ognibene is designing the system himself with Ecks' assistance in identifying likely scenarios. At present Baatar Al-Sayid is working out a device to monitor my brain patterns so as to isolate frequencies indicating psychic activities and develop effective simulations for future training. He is setting up a training regimen so upon my return my skills can continue to develop and we can establish guidelines for future cadets with similar abilities."

She rattled off more details about the workings of her department and answered questions as Dredd wondered exactly how many tests she would be put through. There were faint discolorations at her temple, the residue of something probably from one of those experiments. For someone with so much power she seemed to comply to every stipulation laid before her. She would probably make a difficult enemy, certainly a dangerous one in a few years. Who could say she would still be counted amongst the Judges by then? What side effects might manifest, either from her innate capabilities or from the experiments to which she was willingly subjected?

"Have you read your fellows in Tek Division? Are they trust worthy?"

"Sir?" Anderson's thought patterns seemed to come to a halt. "They're loyal members of Tek Division. I was under the impression that unless there was evidence to the contrary I would follow protocol and leave them to their thoughts."

"At this crucial stage its important _you_ are aware of everything happening around you. That means a thorough examination of everyone in your unit."

Anderson pressed her lips together in a thin line as some thought hardened her dark eyes. Dredd waited to see her response.

"No sir. I believe part of Psi-Divison needs to include a basic level of respect. That could easily grow out of hand and the men and women who work in the division need to know they can trust each other. Particularly those without psychic abilities. If I spend all my time prying into the minds of others it will only create a culture of fear and suspicion."

"Its no game Anderson. One wrong move and I can't promise what might happen to you."

"Understood sir but if my capacity to read minds is the only bulwark within the division you may as well cancel its formation now. The mind is a changing labyrinth and I will not live forever, be it age or duty that takes me. If Psi-Division is to make it past my service it_ must_ learn to work with a basic level of trust and old fashioned loyalty."

"That's a dangerous approach."

"So is the entire Hall of Justice. We've seen treachery amidst our ranks as recently as Peach Trees sir. The only difference is the method of mayhem."

Dredd almost smiled. With her heels dug in against the idea of using her powers on her fellows she was admirable. The suspicious little voice in his head wondered if she was feeding them lines they wanted to hear, but then again this was a woman who had not only escaped from her own mistakes, but she had come and saved him too. She could have run or opted to save herself but she had chosen to continue her duty. And she hadn't picked his mind to discover whether she had passed or failed, nor had she attempted to manipulate his thoughts in that direction. To the contrary she was perhaps one of the most honest people he knew. Affecting such a temper would have been a difficult facade.

Goodman folded her arms and stared down the young Judge. Anderson held her gaze, maintaining her parade rest and good posture, chin up just enough to display strength without arrogance.

"Her approach is sound," Dredd said at last when he got tired of their staring match. Goodman's eyes shot to him like glittering chips of obsidian, cold and ruthless, an expression straight from her days working the Streets. It was a reminder that she didn't have her position for nothing. "Its trouble building something you can't trust without spies."

"Never mind my career Anderson, its your head on the block, and I don't mean iso-cubes or Titan. If that's the approach you wish to take and should a disaster result I'll be out of office so fast I won't even have the chance to delay the passing of a sentence."

"Understood sir," was all Anderson answered.

"As far as you go mind your conscience," Goodman advised Dredd, another sharp look cutting through him. "You're both dismissed."

Anderson saluted while Dredd just turned around and pulled back the door. She followed him out of Goodman's office and they were the better part of the way down the hall when he heard the soft sound of her expelling a shaky breath. It was barely audible.

"Judge Anderson," Ariel called as they passed, half rising from his desk. Anderson and Dredd both turned to look at him. With almost a flinch Ariel shot Dredd a distasteful look before carefully approaching. He extended an envelope. "Another Judge left this for you. Colt I think, the one with you before."

Anderson's slender eyebrows met as she opened it and extracted a Polaroid photo of a book bound in ribbon to a chair like it might have been a hostage. Written neatly along the bottom was "don't forget me". Nonplussed Dredd sought an answer in Anderson's expression. Instead he watched a smile spread across her cheeks and light flood into her eyes.

"Thank you," she said to Ariel who was taken aback by the expression. Despite what must have been forty years between their ages her beauty was not lost on Ariel.

"You're welcome," he sat back down, forcing himself to attend paperwork. Anderson hardly seemed to notice the affect she'd had on the aide as she moved out the door, holding it open long enough for him to catch it. She flipped the photo over to examine the back, shaking her head.

"Judge Dredd," she looked up suddenly, returning the photo to the envelope and tucking it inside her helmet for the moment. "I'm sorry you were pulled into this business when it belongs to my department." Dredd pressed the elevator button as he considered an appropriate reply.

"Don't waste the opportunity," he answered. "I'll have your six so learn."

"Right. The clinic run by Dr. Zacarias Hargrave is located at this address," she extracted a pen and tore off a corner of the envelope so she could scrawl it down. "We're to report tomorrow at 1800 and then we'll cross the wall the following morning to make for the outlying settlements. Rosenberg is a munitions expert and Radkov was part of EOD during the war with Texas City. He'll be running most of our communications, keeping us in touch with Judge Ecks. Both of them are Tek Divison and combat trained."

"What can you tell me about them?"

"Rosenberg's a man of few words but he gave my Lawgiver a tune up and it fires better than when it was new. Ecks said he spent a good five years working in the field with Judges, testing his work himself in combat situations. Right up until they assigned him to Psi-Division. Radkov is..." Anderson hesitated and hunted for words. "He needs convincing but he carries himself like a veteran and the others respect him if they dislike him."

"He needs 'convincing'?" Dredd prompted as the elevator arrived and they stepped in.

"He's rather hostile to the concept of Psi-Division. I haven't got much of a grasp on him yet truthfully so I can't say if working for a woman or a mutant irritates him more. But the military must have discharged him honorably for him to still have his EOD tattoo and he's seen combat. I recognize the scars in his general signature."

"What's a general signature?"

"The best way I know to describe it is like an impression of how they work. Its not like looking into a mind, its just the feel of it in proximity. Sort of like the way someone sounds or smells. That's as close a comparison as I can get you."

"When Goodman asked you to read me before your Assessment..."

"I didn't do more than look at your signature. All it told me was masculine, Judge, and angry. I make it a rule to try and stay out of minds as much as possible. Contrary to popular belief its not that interesting to stare into them all the time. Minds are raw and very powerful and most times I don't want to know what someone's thinking unfiltered."

Her gaze met his visor when he turned to look at her. She appeared truthful beneath her fringe of bangs, hair feathered around her young face. Still small with her scratched up badge she reminded him of a bird but there was some internal strength, reinforcing an inexplicable sureness in him that he was right in passing her. His irritation at the assignment was rapidly abating.

"Remember that conviction," he advised. "I'll meet you at your block at 0700."

"Will you eat before that?" Anderson inquired. Dredd turned to stare at her. "If not I'll have breakfast ready at 0630 in apartment – "

"Parnassus block, floor twenty, southwest corner," he supplied, nerves prickling.

"Or you could call it 2079," she clearly tried not to smile, fixing her eyes on the descending numbers over the door. Dredd offered no comment about the room number, trying to ascertain the meaning behind the invitation. It was likely just a friendly offer but Anderson was young. Young Judges especially needed boundaries. "If you come early for breakfast you may have to put up with Colt. She seems to have let herself into my apartment again and breakfast is her favorite meal so I doubt she'll leave until its provided."

They were silent the remainder of the ride and Anderson kept at his side through the lobby into the garage. Anderson had parked two rows down from him. They made their way out of the garage on their rumbling Lawmasters, turning into traffic to complete the brief trek to their respective blocks. Parnassus was first and Anderson gave him a silent wave as she pulled off. When she vanished and he was idling at the light beside her block he couldn't help but look up towards her balcony.

At first he hadn't been sure it was her the other day. She was a distant speck watching him, barely discernible as a strawberry blond. Something had prickled the hair on the back of his neck. It wasn't exactly an unpleasant sensation, just the sense that there were eyes upon him. When she'd waved he had known. Anderson was the only one who would think to wave at him.

For whatever reason he could always pick her out of a crowd. It took her only a fractional second longer to locate him, possibly because of this "signature" she had discussed but he had no explanation for his sense of her whereabouts. Somehow she just stuck out. He glided through the intersection resolving he wouldn't accept the invitation. Sometimes caution was the better part of valor.


	6. Intel

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Dredd characters, places, etc.

Chapter 6: Intel

Colt was happily sipping at a tall glass of orange juice as she lounged on the sofa with dawn teasing the horizon outside one of the vast windows in the apartment. With breakfast a done deal and the dishes finished Anderson was in the midst of collecting her gear.

"So I'll water the plants then," she gestured at the assortment of greenery spilling across the balcony. The blanket from the guest bedroom was settled across her lap. Anderson didn't know why she called it her guest bedroom. Colt used it often enough that Anderson teased her about charging rent.

"With water," Anderson nodded with a significant look. Colt looked at her incensed.

"Your poor, poor plants. Nothing but water? No wonder they're so small. A bit of contraband will perk them right up." Colt sipped her orange juice again, hooking a stray tendril of red hair behind her ear from where it had escaped the messy pile at the crown of her head. Only Colt could get away with so oddly placed a bun. "So what exactly is it you're going to do again?"

"I was reassigned under Judge Ecks. Since the unit is brand new we're undergoing some extensive training out west," she repeated. It was strictly speaking true, only certain details omitted. Colt was too smart to outright lie to. Most Judges were.

"For a month? You'd better be careful. Things get weird out there by the wall," Colt advised. "If things start to look grim call okay?" She bent a knee so her elbow and chin in turn could be supported by it, studying Anderson. "You know, there's something different about you. When you come back from this 'training' will you tell me? You're a big name after Peach Trees, you and that stiff Dredd, but they whisper about you."

"Judge Dredd's not a stiff," Anderson shot her a crooked smile.

"I'd be protective of the guy too after what you two went through, but really, he's a stiff. I've been a Judge six years now and I've seen him around. Trust me, he's a stiff. Upstanding stiff. But seriously, will you tell me? Your files are all pretty tightly locked. I made some inquiries so I know."

"Why?" Anderson cocked her head, sitting down to lace up her boot.

"I wanted to know who I was training," Colt shrugged. "Knowing a little about who you're training to survive the streets is important. Your chances of survival go up. But now I wanna know as your friend. We're friends, right?"

"Of course," Anderson assured her, unnerved by the thread of uncertainty in Colt's voice and tremulous sensation accompanied by it in her thoughts. Anderson had recognized Colt's methods of compensation, but had never felt vulnerability in the Fiery Flea. She sat up with the second boot hanging between her knees and glanced out the window. Dredd was a block away, at the fringe of her awareness of him. Fascinating that she could pick him out from so far and Al-Sayid vanished after only a few floors separation. It was almost time to meet. She chewed on her lip.

"I know you've talked before about...mutants..." Her friend's head tilted sideways, expression clouded with the gravity of Anderson's tone.

"Not overly fond," Colt nodded once, her teeth nibbling at the edge of a thumb nail. Anderson hesitated, weighing Goodman's orders to keep the department secret and the worth of her friendship with Colt. 'Not overly fond' was a gross understatement on Colt's part. She reviled mutants. Understandable considering the stories that Colt had spent three weeks captured by mutants as a cadet after a botched field exercise. They'd given her up for dead when she'd come back after freeing herself and eliminating the war band single-handed.

"I have to train because my unit is being specially developed to combat them," Anderson explained. "Its not an official unit as yet since the council is worried we might stir up some real trouble."

"They want someone to throw under the bus," Colt's eyes hardened. Anderson extended the barest tendril of thought despite a sense of supreme guilt. With her hardline stance on mutants there was no telling how Colt would react to the realization that Anderson was herself technically classified a mutant. She felt acceptance in that answer.

"What about me? I'd join. I know how they think, how they organize," Colt set aside her drink to lean forward, frigid eyes cutting straight through Anderson.

"Maybe when its official. Its a relay right now, in its formative stages. You're needed here in the city."

"Then why Dredd? His record is better than almost anybody's." Her eyes narrowed to slits, suspicion flaring in her.

"That's why he's team lead," Anderson answered smoothly, pulling on her second boot. Her eyes shot to the clock again. She slung her jacket on, the worn badge winking in the morning light.

"Why a rookie Judge? You're good buddy, uncannily accurate even. But to partner with Dredd in a month long operation? Why not Hershey or someone else?" Colt got up and followed Anderson into the kitchen where the blond snagged the extra breakfast burrito she'd put together for Dredd anyway. Her offer had been a foolish urge. She had known the minute the words were out that he wouldn't come for breakfast. She wondered if he'd eat what she brought anyway.

"Peach Trees," was all Anderson could think to answer Colt, looking back at her friend seriously. Colt chewed on that, searching Anderson's face. "That's the best guess I've got. I don't know why else they'd have paired us." Strictly speaking true. She knew why _she_ was uniquely qualified for this operation and that it was their teamwork in Peach Trees that had sentenced Dredd to the Cursed Earth with her.

"The council works in strange ways," Colt finally relented, all but the barest trace of suspicion gone. "Keys." Anderson handed them over with a smile. "I won't kill your greens. But you and me are going to sit down for a serious conversation when you get back. It takes..." the red head trailed off as she went back to snatch her orange juice again. She threw the remainder back and twirled the glass back and forth as she scowled out the window. "You'll see some things out there around muties. There are...some real monsters." Colt's skin prickled visibly as a shudder ran through the disfigured scars in her psyche. Turning around she glared at Anderson, not out of anger directed at the psychic but because she stared through such vile, sordid memories. "Don't be late."

"I won't be," Anderson nodded.

Colt saw her out the door and Anderson made her way quickly down to the garage, rucksack slung over one shoulder, helmet on, Dredd's breakfast in the other hand. Plunging into the parking deck she spotted him waiting astride his bike, examining information downloaded into his Lawmaster. Presumably it was about the shanties outside the wall in reference to their current mission. Nothing official would have been recorded.

"Breakfast," she set it over the console in the paper bag like something a mother might prepare. Ignoring the sudden rush of uncertainty when his visor raised enough to stare her down she went to her Lawmaster instead. "I've got five minutes before we were supposed to meet. I'm not late."

It was thirty seconds of her securing her belongings to the Lawmaster before she heard him open the sack and peel back the wrapping on his still warm breakfast burrito. Her heart rate slowed down and the muscles in her back eased. In another two minutes she had everything stowed and Dredd had finished his breakfast, crossing a few rows to deposit his trash. Anderson listened to his footsteps slightly muffled by her helmet.

"Argos first?" he prompted.

"Yes sir," she nodded, turning over the engine. Dredd did likewise and the pair of them eased through the levels of parking deck and into traffic. She glanced up at the light and saw a little head of red hair peering over a twentieth floor balcony. Raising her hand in parting she saw Colt bring her fingers to her mouth and whistle a shrill cat call that had no trouble reaching them twenty stories below. Anderson couldn't avoid the smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth.

Though she'd only been once Anderson knew the way to Argos absolutely. Perhaps because it loomed with the promise of her fate it stood immortalized in her memory amid the tangle of sprawling roads and dominated the surrounding warehouses despite their superior height. Swinging back around into the parking deck with a sure mastery born of familiarity with her bike and an ownership of the terrain she slid into a parking place and was off the bike as Dredd assumed one beside her. With habitual mindlessness she removed the helmet. Dredd left his in place.

This time she didn't stop at the information desk. The Tek officer there watched her pass, his eyes on Dredd who took his turn to glance at and probably memorize the features. They waited patiently on the elevator before stepping inside where Anderson could insert her ID and select a floor.

"B5 is where Psi-Division is based for now," she informed him when they began their descent. "Level 3 has the infirmary and the eighth floor is where Al-Sayid's lab is located. In case you ever needed the lay of our landscape." Dredd nodded once in indication he had heard but made no comment. Anderson didn't know why it might concern him but there was the off chance that someone would need at least a skeletal outline of their department's structure. Perhaps if it was destroyed he would know where to start scavenging for information. It was unnerving and comforting at once to imagine him in search of the truth if her department was eradicated.

Anderson felt the barbs of annoyance on the other side of the door from a floor away. She immediately recognized the signatures as those belonging to Radkov and Al-Sayid. Ecks was a cool spot, unruffled. Steeling herself for an onslaught from Radkov and his ill humor she focused on Al-Sayid.

_'Almost at your floor,' _she announced, startling the programmer. She could feel the jolt of a physical jump followed by a flare of embarrassment and annoyance directed not at her but at his being left behind. He felt responsible for her, both for what she might do and what might be done to her. Ecks and Radkov were both on his black list. The doors opened and Anderson stepped through without hesitation, just as Radkov was finishing a tirade that had grated painfully on Al-Sayid's sense of hearing.

"Its a damn fool plan with intel like that! We need an armed unit. Unless she can do more than read minds we'll be sitting ducks against Sunakarib _and_ Taharka this close to the Wall," Radkov vented. "Even fighting each other there's more than a chance of spillover. You're mad Ecks. You'll kill us _and_ your pet freak," he jerked a thumb at Anderson without turning.

"What intel is that Radkov?" Anderson asked smoothly, ignoring the name calling despite a hot flash of anger at the term 'freak'. His classical features swinging around to face her Radkov might have melted her face with his unadulterated loathing. Dislike and mistrust was directed at her but his revulsion originated in these two names.

"Taharka and Sunakarib are warlords. During the war with Texas City they chewed holes in our flanks and devastated our supplies, not for Texas City but because they wanted any scraps they could get. Since then they've had a falling out and have been carving up territories, slaughtering back and forth throughout the whole central part of the continent."

"How close are they to the shanties?"

"Within fifteen miles of roughly the area staked out for Hargrave's peace corps bull shit," Radkov spat, his hands flexing. His fear was almost cloying this close and she bolstered her defenses lest some of his flashing memories crash through into her.

"Its not an issue of physical numbers," Anderson surmised.

"No," Radkov shook his head once, his blue eyes fixing on her with a sudden calm. "We go out there and get tangled up with them there won't be enough of us to bring back in a sandwich bag. Even a mutie like you should value her skin."

"What's the likelihood of their assaulting the Walls and making a try for crossing?" Anderson put her helmet down and came to look at the display on the desk Radkov had claimed. He blinked at her in seeming surprise that she would give this any consideration. He twisted the monitor for better viewing, Dredd materializing behind Anderson.

"I've got a buddy flying patrols and I asked him to take a look last night. These are the images I got back. These here are the shanties, about sixty miles outside the walls at a permissible distance," Radkov indicated what looked like fragmented slate smudges separated from the metal structures of Mega City 1 by a band of gold wasteland. "And this," he indicated two reddish glowing spots. The images must have been taken at dusk. He flipped screens to display the imaging of a battlefield closer up, streaked and stained, smoking, littered with nondescript blotches. Anderson studied the slaughter as Radkov reacted to it, grappling with sickening fear and a base hatred.

"Taharka's the one you have to worry about," Radkov grated out. "Sunakarib packs power. Pyrokinetic," he marked out the scorch marks. "But Taharka is cunning and cruel. He's a mutie like you. There's no warning he's a mutie until your goose is cooked."

"Pyrokinetic too?" Anderson looked at Radkov as he crossed his arms. He shook his head, muscles shifting along his temple and flexing in his jaw.

"Whatever he is he can strip the flesh off bones in only a few seconds," Radkov indicated trails of blood on the battlefield. Anderson frowned faintly as a queasy feeling gripped her stomach.

"Again, what is the risk of them attacking the city?" she stared him in the eye, having to crank her head back to do so. Radkov weighed it, hunting in her gaze.

"Sunakarib will always be a small time chieftain. He prides himself on his adaptability to the Cursed Earth. Taharka is an agent of mayhem. As long as Sunakarib is a challenge he'll be content. But someone like you, now you they say are very powerful. If Taharka thought you were interesting then there aren't enough walls in Mega City One to keep you safe. And he'd kill anyone he thought would either get in the way or anyone that would piss you off just so you'd start looking for him too."

Radkov looked back at the screen.

"Your concern is noted Radkov," Anderson looked at the screen too, feeling him tense. "But these are the things Psi-Division is being designed to handle."

"You don't even have your walking legs under you," Radkov scoffed.

"We'll see which of us takes down Taharka." She crossed her arms and assumed a similar stance as Radkov shot her an acidic glare. "Afraid you'll get beat by a mutie?" Her eyebrow jumped up inquisitively, feeling his competitive streak flare. It drowned out his anxiety and matched pace with his loathing.

"You just play bait and let the men work," Radkov turned around and stalked back to Ecks. "Permission to finish looking in on the transport sir now I've made my report."

"Granted," Ecks nodded once. Radkov saluted stiffly, shot Anderson one last crippling look, and left grumbling about suicide missions. Anderson felt him already at work though, the buzz of productivity humming across his thoughts. "If he wasn't worth his weight in explosives and heavy artillery," Ecks shook his head when the elevator closed on the fuming EOD expert.

"We'll see," was all Dredd replied. Anderson realized his proximity suddenly, just there behind her, a golem radiating anger in a subtle burn centered in his core. She'd felt it many a time, vaguely aware it was directed at Radkov and a bit at her. Without delving into his thoughts she couldn't tell what exactly she'd done to bring some of that all consuming anger on herself and that wasn't her place. They would work it out in words or not at all.

"Judge Dredd, thank you again for partnering with our division," Ecks acknowledged him at last.

"Do we have actual information about these warlords?" Dredd bypassed the greeting, his head turning back to the screen.

"Very little. What's available comes from sources during Texas City's secession. They've kept clear of the cities since then and as we have little to no jurisdiction over the Cursed Earth information is in short supply." Ecks lifted a file and held it out. Dredd took it and let it fall open across one wide hand. Anderson peered at it too from behind him. In a subtle shift Dredd both lowered and tilted the file so she could share.

The information was both sixteen years old and an assortment of eye witness statements so varying that they may as well have just listened to the streamline pieces Radkov had confessed. Anderson skimmed it as quickly as she could, keeping pace with Dredd's swift page turning.

"Is this all?" Dredd looked up. His hand was beginning to close the folder but Anderson took his wrist in one hand as she caught a line on the page with the fingers of her other hand.

"Wait," she thought she said, her whole attention fixing on a small detail. "This soldier, Tallus McCallum."

Because she was loosely connected to Al-Sayid she felt this name trigger in his memory. _'What can you tell me?'_

_Badly wounded._ The simple statement carried with it images of a man missing an arm and a lamed leg but the real damage was in fits of extreme PTSD and hallucinations. _Deaf_. She saw McCallum as Al-Sayid had, recovering after surgery at the same time about seven years ago, recalling the smell of perfume that lingered on him from the daily visits of his girlfriend.

"Lost the left arm, collapsed lung, ruptured organs, and burst ear drums. He said it was Taharka that attacked him."

"_Tarka! Tarka! Tarka!"_ Al-Sayid's memory conjured, McCallum's voice rough with fear as he slurred the name and thrashed, screaming and making Al-Sayid's new hearing ache, startling him out of sleep.

"What sort of force could do that?" Anderson looked at Al-Sayid as she asked.

"Sound waves," he replied. She felt his logic fix all the pieces together like the solid pop of a joint set to rights. Her fingers ached and she realized she had Dredd's wrist closed in a fierce hold. Releasing him with an apologetic glance she took a step back to afford him his personal space. Dredd only closed the folder.

"Upload those reports and anything else you come across into our Lawmasters. We'll need everything we can get," Dredd instructed. Ecks nodded consent.

"I'll see what else Ben can dig up. Al-Sayid has a few gadgets for you Anderson and then you can carry on. Radkov and Rosenberg will be waiting for you in the garage. Good luck," he gave her a long look as he passed. Al-Sayid was annoyed and anxious. Tapped in like she was she realized it was because Al-Sayid felt Ecks was being dismissive of the danger and he was further angered at being confined to Argos. He was missing out on prime observations.

_'Have I become your favorite lab rat?' _she prompted to get him back on track. His eyes flicked to her.

"I managed it." Again, she knew he referred to the devices because she was following his thoughts more than his statements. His mind had moved far ahead of his words. Popping open a small box on another desk he extracted the physical manifestation of a complex assortment of circuitry, soldering and sensors wrapped in expectation and hope. It was barely the size of a quarter, bristling with tiny sensors like countless legs on an insect. She had gleaned it would insert into the base of her skull and hang on between the bristling sensors and a gel adhesive.

"Its crude. I'll have a better one when you return," he gestured for her to turn around before slathering the back in the adhesive gel. "You'll have to pull it out and wash it when you can and take a rest day every three days. It'll irritate the skin but I packed a salve that should prevent infection. If the plate gets hot remove it immediately. I'm not totally certain what vast amounts of psychic activity will do to the circuitry."

Anderson pulled her hair out of the way while Al-Sayid ran an electric razor in a small stripe to make a clean space for the device. She braced for impact as soft curls whispered down the back of her armored vest to land like flower petals at her feet. It came with sure pressure and a quick, sharp bite. Her skull buzzed as it acclimated to the electrical gadget, sensing the little flare of energy there the same way she sensed electronics around her. They just generally weren't so directly in contact with her.

"How does it feel? Hurt?"

"Fine," she assured him, tilting her head this way and that as she worked to acclimate. Al-Sayid glanced at a different computer screen, watching graphs. He was satisfied it worked as it depicted the areas of activity and streams of data he needed more time to interpret.

"Did you remember the voice recorder?"

"Safely packed."

"You'll have to get creative. I don't think your talents are quite as useful an offense as pyrokinesis or the manipulation of sound waves." A mixture of concern – the sort of concern one might have about losing a puzzle not yet completed – and anticipation at thoughts of her possible solutions.

"I'll come up with something," she assured him with more confidence than she felt. Against an average human she was certain of her odds but she'd never been put up against monsters that could sunder limbs and immolate the body with only the power of their minds.

"Take notes if you can, record the details. Anything you bring back adds precious knowledge to our base. Otherwise all I've got left is to wish you luck." Al-Sayid held out his hand. Anderson reached forward and pressed her palm against his.

"Thank you," she nodded.

_Your thanks will be a safe return_, he thought with carefully framed clarity.

_'I'll be back before you can miss me.'_

Al-Sayid sighed, flicked a glance and a nod at Dredd, before returning to his desk with a mind to perfecting the device he'd secured to the base of her head. Anderson resisted the urge to touch it, instead collecting the lunch box sized carrying case and making for the elevator.

"Is that what they've always done with you?" Dredd asked when they were alone. Anderson looked up at his trademark scowl still fixed ahead at the closed doors.

"How do you mean?"

"Are they always plugging your brain in?"

"A monthly psych eval and every week I take a shift running interrogations while hooked up to brain imaging. Nobody's ever patched into my brain like this though," she answered. "Well, at least not since I was a kid."

Dredd folded his arms across his chest and seemed to consider that. His helmet turned to face her and from behind the tinted visor she sensed he was seeking some answer in her face. She just looked back at him, curious of the thoughts shifting beneath his stony exterior.

They didn't say anything else until they arrived in the parking garage where Radkov and Rosenberg were finishing up loading an enormous armored transport bristling with firepower. It was a fortified hummer with high suspension for travel through the Cursed Earth and a gun turret settled ominously up top. Anderson recognized Olvrisson's signature as a pair of legs sticking out from under the vehicle and Voll's as belonging to the legs hanging out from the hood.

Radkov's agitation had cooled considerably, his mind more focused on the work at hand. Olvrisson and Voll were more or less indifferent except for feeding on Radkov's animation. Rosenberg was utterly calm. He noticed her first and climbed back out of the driver's seat. Landing solidly on two booted feet he approached, extracting a pair of clips from his belt.

"I'll need your Lawgiver when we reach Hargrave's so I can add an additional program for EMP rounds. You too sir," he looked at Dredd. "In the mean time these clips are custom made. The charge in them will disorient a psychic for a few seconds even with just a grazing blow. The pulse is good for a twenty foot radius, too weak to kill but enough to disrupt psychic activity."

Anderson and Dredd both accepted the clip. It was effort not to recoil from it, feeling it weigh in her palm. She'd felt a charge like that once and it had practically burned the synapses out of her head like someone had poured molten glass down her scalp.

"Twenty feet," she repeated. Rosenberg nodded decisively.

"Radkov's got us armed to the teeth," Rosenberg looked back at the EOD expert standing with his hands on his hips, inventorying his goods. "Or as much extra as we could take in. Judge Ecks sent plenty of medical supplies for Hargrave. We'll be following you sir from here. Ready to leave when you are."

"Suit up," Anderson instructed as she made for her bike. She secured the assorted odds and ends from Al-Sayid and then gingerly eased her helmet on, careful to avoid the tender patch with her recently added sensor chip.

"Good luck sir!" Voll called as she revved her bike into a throaty idle. He and Olvrisson had both weaseled out from their respective mechanical observation points. She just gave him a nod before easing into traffic, straining to focus lest her nerves got the best of her.


	7. Hoops

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the Dredd characters, places, etc.

Chapter 7: Hoops

Anderson hardly seemed to notice the chip stuck into the back of her head. Dredd watched the light flash off it as her hair shifted, pulled aside by the wind at a final Tek stop to collect spare parts in the event of a breakdown. It was a necessary pit stop, the hummer pulled up and being scoured by a small swarm of Teks across the way with the man he'd identified as Rosenberg overseeing. Radkov remained inside the vehicle, engrossed in tactical maps and intel. Dredd felt a touch of irritation at the man's liberal application of insults and Anderson's allowance of them. He knew it grated on her but she had not only avoided a visible reaction but had redirected Radkov's energies in a more productive direction.

It still didn't sit right with him the way Anderson took that abuse. He understood that her plan must have been to earn his respect through work but the term annoyed Dredd in reference to her. Radkov was a fool to intentionally court her disfavor. She was powerful and more than effective in a combat situation.

Anderson was freed by the Tek looking over her bike and crossed the distance to Rosenberg. He couldn't hear what she said over the sounds of hydraulics and Teks barking orders in the crowded inspection station. Rosenberg tilted his head as he listened, studying her face with an indifferent honesty that suggested he didn't care what Anderson was so long as she was capable. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and then gestured up at the truck. Anderson hooked a hand in the window and hoisted herself up so she could address Radkov. The moody technician looked up at her. Dredd imagined his expression matched a slur before he cocked his head at the question. He held out a hand and Anderson pulled out the clip Rosenberg had specially designed for them. Radkov pulled out a single bullet, studying it before he returned the rest of the clip. He held it up with a question, rolling the bullet between his thumb and forefinger. Anderson shrugged and said something that put a scowl on Radkov's face, more thoughtful than directed at her.

Dredd's bike was finished and he was leaning against it, watching as Anderson approached. Her little slim frame carried the almost feral stride of a body used to combat, loose and ready to react. It was a far cry from the nervous girl beside him preparing for her first combat outside of simulation. The wind tossed her hair into her face and she glanced up at the sun, tracing its noon placement.

"Every bullet counts," he advised as she pulled a water bottle from her saddlebags and tossed him another. He broke it open and took a drink.

"I wanted to know if Radkov could make EMP mines," she answered. "If I can I want to pick the battlefield. A twenty foot detonation radius is fine with Rosenberg's bullets but if I'm inside that twenty feet I'll be crippled too, a liability."

"You won't need your psychic powers to kill him," Dredd half inquired.

"When one of those goes off it feels more like someone's ripped my brain out through the back of my skull and is dragging my spinal cord after it." Anderson reached up as if to touch the metal plate in her head but thought better of it, pushing her hair back out of her eyes. She slid her helmet on carefully, conscious of that little patch of metal.

"Disciplinary measure?" Dredd prompted, trying to imagine how Anderson would have been on the receiving end.

"Prank," she replied flatly. Dredd tilted his head. "They've had me helping interrogations since I was twelve as a means of practicing. Some class mates thought it was favor. An EMP with the strength of our little bullets will barely faze a regular person, maybe a little dizziness or disorientation, so they made it a little bigger, thinking I might faint."

"Did you?"

Dredd could barely see her jaw shift under the helmet, just the edge of working muscles.

"Yes."

She swung onto her bike and turned the engine over. Dredd offered no more questions as he tried to imagine exactly how much pain was wrapped up in that one word. Rosenberg was finishing finally and hoisting himself into the hummer. Anderson took point and he surprised himself wondering if he'd crossed a line.

They didn't stop again until they reached Hargrave's clinic that afternoon at about 5:30. It was a low building, a concrete beast hunched over cracked pavement, but it was clean for its decay. There were children playing ball in the parking lot, shooting at a ramshackle hoop attached to a concrete wall. They looked up at the approach of the convoy, little eyes filling with awe and fear as the vehicles came to park.

Dredd watched Anderson immediately remove her helmet, a reflexive habit he'd noticed. She set it aside as the children gathered together to whisper, pointing at them. Accustomed to inspiring awe Dredd made for the front doors.

"Is Dr. Hargrave in?" Anderson instead addressed the children. As one they shivered and drew closer together, whispering furiously and elbowing one another. The doors of the hummer clunked shut as Radkov and Rosenberg emerged too. As if the noises startled the children into a consensus the tallest boy, maybe twelve, waded forward with the ball under one arm. He launched it in a spry movement straight into Anderson's chest. She caught it and raised her eyebrows.

"Why you Judges want 'im?" he asked, his voice carrying in it as much authority as he could muster. He stood in defiance, all four feet of him, poverty and hunger making him thin, sharp angles.

"Supplies for his next trip outside the wall," Anderson answered patiently. The childish spokesman looked at the armored hummer and his lip curled.

"Hargrave ain't got no need for stuff like that," he crossed his twig fine limbs, so small Dredd was amazed they had put such force into the ball he'd passed to Anderson. "You here to close this place?"

"Not by a long shot," Anderson dribbled the ball a few times. She caught it and turned it over in her hands, frowning at its slight deflation.

"'S all we got," a little girl with dread locks informed her between the gap in her front teeth.

"We've got work," Dredd reminded Anderson sharply, wondering what she was doing.

"I wouldn't go in that front door," she shook her head. She went back to her bike and extracted an adhesive used as a quick fix for a punctured tire. With minimal effort she located the leak in the ball and filled it before inflating the ball with a canister of pressurized air. Standing back up she tested her work and the ball bounced properly. She snapped it back to the boy, who caught it and turned it over amazed. "So which way's not booby trapped?"

As one the children all pointed around the back of the building. Anderson gave them a little nod and turned in that direction.

"Hey lady!" a third kid called. "You come back and play? Todd's too good. We need a psycho to read 'im."

Anderson looked back with a crooked smile at the misnomer.

"If there's time," she half promised. The oldest boy who must have been Todd puffed out his chest and shoved the other boy.

"Ain't gonna help. No psycho can stop me lady."

"Oh no?" she chuckled before departing. Dredd glanced at the front doors and followed, the Teks falling in behind them.

"Booby trap?"

"Nothing harmful, just a bucket of water rigged over the door," Anderson answered.

"Waste of time," Dredd growled, annoyed at the childish delay and thinking it an absurd test of Anderson's skill. Either Hargrave was a skeptic or Ecks had grossly downplayed her abilities.

They came around the building to a courtyard where a man was reading the paper. He was abnormally tall, gangly, his dark hair slicked back and spectacles on his nose. He put a long finger down to keep his place before he looked up.

"Ah, so you figured out my trap eh?" he smiled.

"Dr. Hargrave," Anderson dipped her chin once.

"You're very young now my girl. But then you couldn't be old to be the first psychic admitted to the Hall. And here, your valiant knights I suppose?" his eyes swept Dredd and the Teks. Radkov snorted and rolled his eyes. "Or not so valiant. Should you like some tea after your journey across the city? Its a warm day. You must be parched."

"I would prefer to go over our plans sir," Anderson shook her head.

"All work and no play will give you wrinkles prematurely my girl," Hargrave stood up, his limbs seeming to unfold. He was taller than Dredd but somehow ethereal, as if he weighed nothing and the wind might pluck him up. "We shall compromise. We can take tea while we discuss our route."

Dredd soon found himself sitting at a table with an enormous hand drawn map spread across it, the details very carefully added over the span of what must have been years. Hargrave's voice had gently explained his normal circuit and he depicted the assorted territories, mentioning the hybrid of tribal and city-state power structures associated in the districts. His grasp of the fluid leadership and clan loyalties was amazing. As he was finally winding down Dredd thought it was a pity he didn't work for intelligence with his eye for subtleties.

"There are a number of individuals who might make a good tutor within the confines of my circuit," Hargrave finally came to the point as he collected his tea kettle and poured more water into Anderson's delicate china cup. Dredd's remained pointedly untouched. "But considering the presence of Sunakarib and Taharka and your intentions of combating them, I would suggest you take your lessons from Beatrice Amanirenas. She makes her home here, by the Green River."

"When did she move out of fairy tales?" Radkov asked. The table turned to him in some surprise.

"You must be from Salem," Hargrave tapped the little town alongside the Green River. Radkov shut down, crossing his arms and leaning back. "Beatrice is quite real, and quite powerful. Why do you think your Salem offered her tribute to keep the banks of the Green River from flooding?"

"What sort of psychic is she?" Anderson looked inquisitively at Radkov. The man refused to even look at her.

"Common lore believes she is a water spirit. As the waters of the Green River are toxic this made it imperative she be appeased to keep the river calm. But I have met with her several times and seen her at work. I believe she is telekinetic, able to manipulate physical objects with her mind. Water may be the easiest thing for her to move but I have seen her manipulate other objects. As such she would offer you versatile opposition."

"She'll also be more inclined to pull your limbs apart and dissolve your body in the Green," Radkov interjected blackly.

"Antisocial he means," Hargrave smiled. "She is not particularly fond of visitors. But if you approach with the right tokens she can be treated with. Or then again I suppose you could incite her to violence and learn through repeated confrontation. The choice is yours."

"Are psychics so common in the Cursed Earth?" Anderson looked between Radkov and Hargrave. Dredd thought there was a touch of yearning in her voice, the barest coloring sound of hope.

"They are only more overt my girl," Hargrave shook his head. "Mega City One is not so free of them as it should like to believe. Why else would they create a Psi-Division? The risks far outweigh the benefits in a society free of psychics." His smile was somehow sinister for its innocence. Dredd had never considered the possibility of there being a real need for Psi-Division. He could understand the potential perks but from this angle Goodman's decisions made more sense. If there was a criminal community they couldn't touch without matching fire power then Anderson became that much more important. She was the Eve of her department, the first chance at combating something perhaps kept under wraps lest it threaten the stability of their government. The rest of the table clearly hadn't considered this either by the silence that ensued.

"Tokens?" Anderson prompted.

"A goat and a silver coin," Radkov answered sullenly. "We'll have to get the coin from Salem's local crank. If he hasn't died."

"A sort of shamanistic spiritualism has taken root in the Cursed Earth. No doubt this 'crank' is a practitioner. He perhaps has some deal with Beatrice I would assume, whether he believes in her divinity or not. Was it Kuulin in your boyhood? He remains the resident 'crank' when last I visited."

"I'm going to pull out my bag. You want yours 'Berg?"

"Please," Rosenberg nodded. Radkov exited without further remark.

"Must be so," Hargrave chuckled to himself. "If you approve I should start on dinner now. Were there more questions? You could settle into your bunks perhaps."

Dredd got up, leaving his cold tea where it sat and went to collect the few things he had intended to bring inside. Anderson was on his heels, stepping out into the dusk, but she stopped where the children were still whooping and playing with the renewed basketball, a tangle of competing limbs and chaotic teamwork that looked more like a mob. She hesitated a moment, the children seeming to realize one at a time she had arrived.

"Hey lady! You came back!" The one who had invited her announced. He shouldered through the tangle. "Come play now! Todd's up by fifty six!"

To his surprise Anderson stripped her outer armor and peeled back the leather beneath, tying the arms around her waist to expose the plain black undershirt in contrast with her pale arms. Todd snapped the ball to her with a scowl.

"You think your psycho powers will get you ahead?" he challenged, all twelve years puffed up against her.

"Against such raw skill?" she replied with a quirk of her lips. "Its probably a losing battle." Todd looked at her smugly and the army of children parted back into respective sides of the court. Anderson crouched over the ball and started dribbling.

Dredd left her to it. He collected his things, leaving a wide berth as he went around the battlefield. Anderson was equal parts competent and childishly clumsy he noted, intentionally giving up the ball to her small competitors to keep it fair and interesting.

The bunks they would use were at the corner of a long corridor, closest to the exit. Radkov had claimed the top bunk to the right of the door, seated with a computer pad on one knee and a stylus between his teeth. The bullet Anderson had given him was held between his thumb and forefinger again, eyes scouring schematics as he worked out the task she'd set for him. He took the stylus from his mouth an prodded whatever image he had composed, altering it with a concentrated crease between his eyebrows.

Dredd opted for the bottom bunk on the opposite set. It would be easier to respond to trouble, not that he didn't trust Anderson to react as swiftly. He just preferred as much of this in his power as possible. Tossing his bag down he left the room and wondered how to spend the remainder of this 'layover' usefully.

Rosenberg was scouring the map still spread over the table as the smell of meat and spices permeated the kitchen. Dredd's stomach churned. It was a while since he'd had a home cooked meal. He glanced over Rosenberg's shoulder briefly, examining again the slightly less than alien territory so patiently mapped. A sudden rush of cheers came from outside distantly.

"It is a good sign she can please the children. They're hard to lie to," Hargrave commented with a pleasant smile. Dredd offered no comment. "Judge Dredd, there is a bulb in that drawer meant for two weeks now to replace the dead one on their court. Would it please you to change it?" Dredd opened the drawer indicated, figuring he had nothing better to do.

Anderson had the girl missing her front teeth on her shoulders for a slam dunk. Both of them were grinning as the ball tipped through the rim, much to the jubilation of their team. Todd and his compatriots were shouting childish insults, boo-ing enthusiastically. Swinging the girl down and back onto the ground Anderson was suddenly surrounded by her team, the paladin of their rag tag army. She braced on her knees giving Todd a challenging grin, eyes shimmering.

"Oh lady, lucky work!" Todd dribbled, the ball swerving between his legs as he changed his weight nimbly. His team broke like wolves, darting around the other group. There was some passing as all the children barked conflicting orders. Todd and Anderson squared up, Anderson almost taking the ball when Todd sent it to a lanky black kid with an Afro. It went from place to place as Anderson lost track of Todd to rescue one of the littler ones from an ungainly spill.

Todd got the ball back and doubled back from his more advantageous position just to go toe to toe with Anderson. She was crouched low, limbs at the ready, waiting for him to make a move. Dredd watched as the boy moved towards her head on. A wicked smile cleaved Todd's face in two before he dropped and skid between her legs, hopping up and launching the ball at the hoop.

"Psh!" Todd put his hands on his hips, cocking his head arrogantly. He was of Hispanic descent and between his demeanor and smooth features he would be a heart breaker. "How's that lady? Didn't see it huh?"

"You're too good," Anderson held up her hands as if in defeat. Todd's grin got wider. He thumbed his nose before offering one closed fist.

"Yeah, I know."

Anderson knocked her knuckles gently against his. One of Todd's team mates took another shot before everyone else was ready. Amidst the wails of protests Anderson stalked through squirming bodies and hoisted the offender up so he sat on one shoulder.

"Now try," she instructed, passing him up the ball.

"Traitor!" wailed her own team over the boy's laughing delight. He missed the basket but Todd passed him the ball back three times until he made it.

"Champion!" the little boy crowed as Anderson put him back down.

Another shot and the ball ricocheted towards Dredd. He caught it easily enough but the court suddenly went silent, staring at him in awe. Todd's bluster seemed to fade a little, staring at the helmet and height.

"Shot?" Anderson prompted, gesturing at the backboard. He hadn't done something as simple as shooting hoops since childhood in the Academy, and then very rarely.

"Hey lady, your boyfriend scared or what?" Todd crossed his arms again, drawing up his courage. The word lanced through his awareness like a flash of lightning. Such things were against regulation but Anderson was young and such conflicting thoughts could pollute her mind. She was rather attentive and it worried him just enough that he waited like a coiled spring for her reply.

"Well I was sure you were gonna ask me out once I beat you at hoops," Anderson squatted and traced a line in the dirt lot, looking up at Todd bashfully through her eyelashes. Todd's face flushed crimson and he was obviously suitably distracted from his inquiry.

"Mr. Boyfriend better fight," the girl missing her front teeth laughed. "Come on Mr. Boyfriend. Todd will take her!" She darted to his side and tugged on his leg. Dredd turned his scowl down to her, made deeper by the assumption that he and Anderson were dating. It was absurd. "Todd always takes the lady," the little girl whispered loudly. Anderson laughed.

"Better stop it guys. My commanding officer might slap me with a demerit for disorderly conduct," she advised, standing up and clapping her hands before holding them open, asking for the ball. She seemed totally unfazed by their assumptions, all smiles at their antics. He dribbled twice before scooping the ball up onto one palm and launching it at the hoop. It sailed through the rusted rim, nothing but net. Anderson's smile widened as awed 'oooooohs' made the rounds through the children.

"We leave at 0500 tomorrow," Dredd instructed as ominously as he could. He moved to the burnt out light and began changing it. "Don't keep the children up past their bedtime." Light suddenly flooded the court. Anderson had a hand raised to shield her eyes as the children flinched away like little demons, cowering underneath the golden glow.

"Yes sir," she nodded, still amused in a halo of light.


	8. The Price of Commerce

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Judge Dredd characters, places, etc.

Chapter 8: The Price of Commerce

The desert sun was brutal. In her full gear with her helmet on Anderson was convinced she would melt. Sweat running down the back of her neck irritated the skin where Al-Sayid's sensor was attached. Ignoring it she had dropped all her walls and stretched her psychic senses as far as they would reach in search of potential danger. It was exhausting but with the possibility of hostile mutants so close by she would much prefer a chance to spot them ahead of their sensors. And it was probable that she would detect a psychic attack before it happened, even if her range was only as good as the sensors on their Lawmasters and the hummer.

"Anderson, report," Dredd commanded.

"All clear through here sir," Anderson answered.

"Regroup. The convoy is stopping. Again."

"Why?"

"Hargrave seems to feel we need to leave something at their present location to secure safe passage." Anderson could hear the disdain in his voice. He'd been prickly since the children had poked fun at him yesterday. Some of it bled over into the tone he used when addressing her. Perhaps he didn't like that she wasn't more forceful in denying any unlawful association between them. He was a stickler for regulation.

Anderson swung wide on her Lawmaster in order to double back. With the sun blazing over her shoulder disapprovingly she made for the buzz of minds that marked her convoy. Overhead a vulture circled, following her path in an amusing vote of confidence from the powers that be.

She'd almost reached them when she screeched to an abrupt halt, swirling to face south. Eyes scanning the parched, abysmal surroundings she sought the feel of another group of minds, comprised of hunger and intelligence. They weren't human thought patterns. There was the barest tremor of the ground beneath her braced boot.

"Rosenberg, what is Hargrave hoping to avoid by leaving his offering?" she demanded into her glove comm.

"He didn't say. But the cows they're tying up suggests a predator. Mutant dogs are common enough but nothing for us to worry about. Further south they have trouble with what they the call 'Gici Awas', which are pack predators. Big hairless things, gray skin, enormous heads, move fast. Claws are about four inches each."

"Get the convoy moving and you two get to my GPS now. Something hungry is headed this way from the south. I'm going to see if I can route them. Dredd, get here fast."

Anderson pulled her Lawgiver from its holster, listening as it identified her genetics as its operator. "High Ex," she gave the command, hearing the munitions shift. This would be her first time using this particular shot in combat.

Gravel flew everywhere as she leaned over the handlebars. Picking up speed she made directly for the distant rumble. It grew in sound, filling up her hearing as she crossed the ground to meet the creatures. The horizon clouded with dust and just when she could make out the loping forms of enormous gray creatures she took aim. She squeezed off two rounds, feeling the recoil, and braked. She watched the arc of the bullets before they connected and detonated, blowing chunks of flesh into the air and tearing at the ground. The beasts scattered, shrieking in bellicose howls. They were immediately answered in the west. Anderson stretched her senses that direction and felt more.

"What are they?" Dredd asked through their comm.

"Big," was all she could think to reply. "Another group west. Hot Shot." Her munition switched over and she got off five shots, the heat seeking bullets finding their targets and burning great holes in them. "Rosenberg, Radkov, move for the western group. Is the caravan moving again?"

"Hargrave's got 'em going," Dredd confirmed.

"We'll cut ahead and deal with that group," Rosenberg confirmed.

"Good. What's your ETA Judge Dredd?"

"Two minutes."

"I'll see if I can't get them rounded up for another High Ex."

"Watch out for scrap," he advised.

"Will do."

Anderson bent over the bike and took off. Dirt and rocks flew everywhere until her forward momentum built. The fragmented thoughts of the beasts were quickly organizing, signaling to each other and noticing her. They spread out, executing their hunting strategies. Fast. She was a fast one. But they were hungry.

She cut to one side as sharply as she dared, leaning close to the ground and feeling the back tire slide a little. As she came out of the turn she fired after two of the closest gray beasts, killing them as they moved to flank her. Speaking of fast, _they_ were fast. They had to have gotten to about forty miles an hour.

There were so many alien minds working around her at once she found it hard to keep track of them. Thus far she'd kept to the fringe of their group, picking them off in a continually moving battle. Focused as she was she nearly missed the slag jutting up from the ground. Cutting hard she had to come to a halt or risk falling into painful road rash at the very least.

That's when she felt the sudden presence behind her. She whipped backwards just in time to see the three foot maw unhinging, yellowed fangs blotting the sun out over her. The wrinkled gray skin, blotched in wounds and sagging from the iron muscles, rippled with its movements. Anderson snapped her gun up and fired three rounds into the thing's head as the engine shrieked and the tires scrambled for purchase. The thing screamed, rancid saliva spattering the ground and flecking her helmet, before shuddering into a heap and dying.

Another gray skinned beast seemed to come from nowhere behind her. She felt its teeth graze her arm. It snapped at her back and she slammed the side of her Lawgiver down on its muzzle before unloading another two shots between its eyes. They were surrounding her. The emergency halt had cost her precious time to keep them scattered.

"Come towards me. I'll take out their perimeter," Dredd instructed. She immediately keyed in on his signature, a beautifully familiar spot of anger and control, and saw two beasts fall to her right. Jerking her Lawmaster in a tight turn she gunned for it as the beasts fell into a frenzy. She gave their minds a jerk, making them feel that this was their only chance, that they couldn't let her get away. Chase, she insisted, driving out all thoughts of strategy. Shrieking they pursued as she made for the Lawmaster idling a quarter mile off. She bent over the bike, racing towards him.

Dredd took aim, sighting down his arm. She put on another burst of speed and he pulled the trigger.

Behind her the ground exploded. She almost lost control, swerving dangerously before pulling upright. There were wet plops behind her but she didn't look back. Dredd pulled off two more shots and lowered his Lawgiver.

"Southern group eliminated," Dredd announced over the comm. "How's the west?"

"Almost clear," Radkov replied.

"On the way for mop up," Dredd nodded, pushing forward and matching speed with Anderson. It was another few minutes of perilous riding before they were within range to pick off the retreating beasts, the hummer idling like a great watch dog.

The convoy trundled up behind them and Hargrave emerged from one of the old jeeps with a canvas back, a charmingly outdated hat with a brim all the way around flopping about his head. Dressed in coveralls he loped towards Dredd and Anderson on their rumbling bikes.

"Gici Awas most certainly. I hear they were bears once, horribly changed after the wars and pushed east from their home in the Rockies. The shanties are plagued by attacks from monster animals, their defenses as meek as they are."

"This is a long way east," Dredd remarked as Rosenberg popped out of the hummer.

"Sir, permission to take samples," he came up and saluted to Anderson.

"For what?" Anderson asked, genuinely curious.

"I'd like to isolate the pheromones. If we smell the right way we can minimize animal attacks."

"Granted," she replied, watching him salute again and trot towards some of the carnage.

"I seem to have misread him. I thought he was all mechanics," Hargrave remarked. "But come, we should move. Gici Awas won't stay away for long. That's why we leave them cattle. My girl, will you ride ahead to the villagers with this? It is a writ and must be submitted directly to the Master of Commerce or I cannot establish my clinic until next week. We are behind."

"Sir," Anderson nodded curtly as she accepted the small chip glittering beneath the high noon sun. She tucked it into one of the pouches on her belt.

"Radkov. You're going with her," Dredd called. Radkov's head popped out of the hummer, his blue eyes dark with irritation.

"Send Rosenberg."

Dredd's helmet only gleamed unwaveringly. Radkov lasted maybe four seconds before he ducked back in and then dropped to the ground buckling a shoulder holster in place. He pulled on a helmet with an irritated sound grating in the back of his throat.

"Sir," he saluted to Dredd so crisply it failed to conceal his anger and then threw a leg over the back of Anderson's bike. She looked back and they shared a moment of mutual displeasure. "Don't crash mutie."

"Didn't master the speed roll at the academy eh?" she retorted. He hooked an arm around her middle roughly and curled the fingers of his other hand on the seat.

"Mind local custom!" Hargrave warned as Anderson prepared to take off. "Let Mr. Radkov do the talking! Women are meant to keep house!" The beaming pleasure that radiated from Radkov at the statement wasn't something she had to look back to understand. She jerked forward, feeling his muscles tense and his balance waver.

It took slightly longer than Anderson anticipated, working across the battered remains of high ways, picking out trails barbed in warped metal, and working around the burned out foundations of old buildings. Radkov was a decent passenger behind her though she knew he loathed the proximity, but his thoughts seemed to be buzzing elsewhere. She could feel traces of nostalgia, chaotic memories awash without clear cut feeling. She wondered what it must have been like to grow up outside the Boundary Wall, if he'd have been different if he'd grown up with a family inside the Wall.

"Slow down," Radkov moved his hand from her hip to her shoulder and squeezed it, shifting as he drew the pistol from its shoulder holster. Ahead was a line of tin roofs stretching out in either direction as far as they could see. Anderson eased back on the throttle until they were crawling at fifteen miles an hour.

"There are people ahead but I don't sense anything like a sentry," she informed him.

"Stop here," Radkov burred, his voice low. She did as he commanded and Radkov swung down. He collected a rock before scanning the surrounding area. With a flick of his wrist he sent it sailing ahead of them. Anderson watched the arc and almost lost her balance in the resulting explosion. Dust and shrapnel plumed up over their heads, both of them instinctively ducking. "Thought so. They're not taking any chances on either side. Radio the convoy and tell them they'll have to angle south to one of the check points. Hargrave'll know what to look for."

"Anderson to Dredd."

"Status?" Dredd prompted through the glove comm.

"Angle the convoy south. The villagers have set up a defensive perimeter and you'll have to pass through a check point. Minefield."

"Roger. Have you made it to town yet?"

"No. We'll have to..." she trailed off as Radkov pulled off his helmet and extracted a chip from his belt. Inserting it into the helmet he fussed with a few controls and set it back on.

"We can get through. They're using the same tech," Radkov announced.

"Radkov's got a way through," Anderson replied.

"Don't take unnecessary risks."

"See you on the other side," was all she could think to answer. The comm crackled silent and she watched Radkov scan the ground. He nodded to himself.

"Mind if I drive?" he looked back. She flipped the kick stand out and dismounted, stepping back with a magnanimous gesture at the bike.

"How did you know about the mines?" Anderson asked as Radkov settled in her vacated space.

"Explosives and bomb disposal were a family trade. Its why they let a kid from outside the Wall into the MC1 army. Now get on mutie or I'll leave you."

"That chip?" she pressed as she climbed on behind him, setting one hand on a broad shoulder and taking the seat in the other.

"Tech is limited out here. Not a lot to experiment on - targets or material. I make a habit of storing all the signatures and schematics of explosives I encounter. Al and Ben rigged the display in my helmet specifically for scanning and locating this kind of thing so long as it knows what its looking for."

With surprising finesse Radkov eased the bike forward, snapping the kickstand back out of the way. Slowly they wove through the field, the Tek's helmet swinging back and forth. Concentration dominated his thoughts, whatever fear emanating from him stemming from fear of maiming rather than death. Mostly it felt like the task was familiar to him, the same way Judges were familiar with being shot at or participating in high speed chases. Dangerous, but part of a daily existence. Was it EOD training or life out here that made this sort of danger familiar she wondered. The answer was there for the picking but it was not hers to take.

People had gathered to see their slow progress. When Radkov finally pushed out of the mine field at a slightly higher speed the crowd peeled back, watching in awe as the Tek and Judge moved through them. Radkov didn't pull over to trade seats again and while she might have been annoyed under different circumstances to have her own bike commandeered, Radkov seemed to know where he was going.

They wove through crowded alleys packed with too many bodies, scraps of cloth stretched between roofs and planks laid down over open sewers. Everywhere people were moving, cleaning, hawking, arguing, children playing, strange creatures that must have been pets and live stock being ushered past. While Anderson took in the sights Radkov was in no way disturbed by the pressing throngs or their squalid living conditions. She wondered how she ever could have classified one of the 200 story blocks as a slum.

Suddenly they alleys opened up into a wide, central market teeming with things of an array and assortment the likes of which Anderson had never before witnessed. Everything from glittering bits of trash to mechanical contraptions to food both cooked and raw were for sale. She almost gasped in shock as one man waved what looked like a necklace of teeth at her, babbling a price.

Radkov had to slow down to a crawl lest he run someone over. As they matched pace with the press of shoppers Anderson had more time to gawk. As fantastical as the merchandise was the people were even more shocking. As many were mutants as normal humans, some of them so twisted by deformity they barely passed as human though they talked loud and hawked goods, laughing and chatting with the norms like regular citizens. There were people with scales, some with extra arms or legs, their features mismatched, one man with a long neck who towered over the others as he sauntered along, his head swaying like a pendulum. And then there were a few creatures that looked to be part animal, a man with the head of a goat, a woman's skin patterned like a leopard's, someone with a serpent's tongue flickering between his teeth.

They pulled up at a dilapidated thing that might be a building constructed of welded tin, bits of stone and wood, and dangling from everywhere were decorations in colorful glass, shreds of cloth, and festooned with naked wires leading to lights in every shade of the rainbow. Radkov killed the engine and reached into his pocket as a little boy with arms proportioned like a monkey's, a harelip, and only one leg scrambled up towards them.

"Keep an eye on it," Radkov instructed, dropping a winking silver coin into the boy's palm. Anderson didn't recognize the impression on its face as valid money, instead noting the curling ram horns of the face depicted. The boy swung into the seat and sat crouched like a gargoyle, grinning up at them.

"Right like she was mine sir. Hullo miss, what a pretty pair. Nice bike and nice girl," he chattered as Anderson removed her helmet. "Oh wow! Oh wow sir! She's a beauty, a pretty, pretty thing! Must come from one of the cities eh? Do they sell wives like that there?"

"Don't put all your money on the skin boy," Radkov advised, removing his helmet too.

"Oh miss, oh please can I just have a kiss? I'm sure you must be an angel! Just a blessing, one right here on this ugly old head?" he pointed at his forehead, his too large eyes glimmering up at her beseechingly. Anderson looked down at him as Radkov waited to see what she would do.

The boy was mottled in cuts and bruises, totally filthy. But his eyes sparkled with wonder and his gaping smile was so full of pure delight as he radiated the innocent sweetness of childhood. She pushed back some of his oily, matted hair and planted a kiss squarely on his forehead. His face blushed crimson and he hid behind his enormous hands. Peeking up through his fingers he laughed bashfully.

"Now there's some luck that'll see me through to the end lady. Thank you ma'am, I'll look after this here bike with my life!"

"You're much too kind," Anderson smiled at him, ruffling his hair. She turned and followed Radkov inside the building, passing through shreds of brilliantly blue cloth. Anderson couldn't help but marvel at how they'd gotten hold of such colors.

Within were more bodies, crowded around a handful of tables or metal constructs perhaps meant to resemble desks. Radkov skimmed them, eying the depictions over them before he settled on one in the corner and made for it. Anderson followed in his wake wondering what the symbols meant.

"We're here with a writ of commerce on behalf of Dr. Hargrave," Radkov informed the burly man in a cowboy hat sitting there. He had jangling spurs and three arms, two of them folded while the third entered something into a monstrous thing that may have been a computer. He looked up from a patchy russet beard spilling over his chest with too narrow gray eyes. Anderson passed Radkov the chip and the Tek offered it. The mutant's extra arm reached for it, a slender appendage with spidery fingers as compared to the knotted muscles of the folded pair. Without a word he inserted it into the machine and studied the writ.

"She's a Judge," he said at last, his eyes not leaving the screen. "Why you here?"

"Mercy mission," Radkov replied. "Brought some extra supplies with Hargrave."

"Not a Judge's business woman. Why you here," he leaned forward, fixing Anderson now in his gaze.

"I've got some business further west in Salem," she replied, locking eyes with him. His gray eyes crawled over her skin, seeming to peel her exterior away in ribbons in search of her very essence.

"She don go nowhere without two Madcaps. Not in Roanoke. You take her strait now boy, strait to the Madcap house and make her friends. Or this writ no good, and Hargrave don pass through the check point and mines to next week and she don stay."

Perhaps he didn't like what he saw. He was suspicious by nature, his mind oily in not an entirely unpleasant way. A survivor, a man who trusted no one, a man who had been betrayed enough times by the old wounds distorting his psyche. Impressive she gathered by the feel of countless other minds around her. He'd made something of himself in this place, gotten somewhere.

"Understood," she replied with a respectful dip of her chin. No sense making an enemy of this man. He had power and while he didn't feel malicious he could make their lives difficult. The Master of Commerce seemed to have expected push back. His bushy eyebrows arched as his eyes flashed over her again, winking like fish scales. He gave her one deep nod in reply and his spidery third arm returned the chip containing their writ.

"What are Madcaps?" Anderson asked when they came back out into the arid heat. Radkov's eyes flicked to her and back to the tangles of people choking the market.

"Touchy," was all he answered. His tone was flat, suggesting he wasn't necessarily happy at he prospect of their presence. They moved down the stairs to the little mutant boy perched on the bike. He looked up and blushed bright red at Anderson.

"Heya lady, mister. Not a scratch you see?" he indicated the bike.

"Where do we find the Madcaps?" Radkov asked.

"Caps up that way," he pointed northeast. "Big place, sturdy building. Right by the well. Roof's all made of sun panes."

"Thanks boy," Radkov nodded. The boy swung himself down and smiled up at Anderson, his too big eyes glittering with admiration.

"So pretty lady. Never seen someone so pretty."

"Charmer," she brushed a little hair out of his face. He beamed at her and balanced on his one leg so he could perform a sweeping bow. Then without any warning he bounded away, propelling himself with his two hands and one little leg. Anderson climbed on behind Radkov, not at all concerned that he had assumed the driver's seat. She was far more interested in studying her surroundings and not eager to thread through the crowded byways.

"Madcaps are the second most powerful people out here," Radkov said after a few minutes, bracing them with a foot on the ground as they came to a halt. Ahead a cart was overturned, the pack beast with four giant paws on slender legs and bone spurs sticking out of its canine head like a series of horns thrashing and bellowing. "They're the closest thing to law outside the Boundary Wall. They work more like mercenaries."

"So we'll have to pay them?" Anderson asked with a frown.

"Most Madcaps are crazy mutie," Radkov remarked, seeming to lose his train of thought as men gathered and heaved the cart upright. The panicked beast managed up onto its paws, shaking out its horned head with floppy ears, and woofing at the hairless, sunburned man who appeared to be his owner. "They're born and bred hunters, usually mutants, and as like to charge you a gallon of water – precious out here – as to ask for a lock of hair or a tooth."

"Why a tooth?"

"Religion," Radkov shrugged.

"There was a man selling a necklace of teeth," Aderson's eyebrows pinched. Radkov threw a look over his shoulder at her.

"Depends on the teeth. If they're worn down it means the owners had lots to eat and that good fortune's supposed to transfer. If they're still sharp they're kept in the cupboard to trick Famine into thinking the cupboard is empty so what's there doesn't spoil or get stolen. That's what they're used for mostly anyway."

A chill ran down Anderson's spine despite the heat. The crowd around them began to press forward again now the buggy was out of the way. Radkov eased along, wary of so many pedestrians. Anderson left the direction to him and went back to people watching. Eyes followed them too, lusting after either flesh or machinery.

The narrow alleys beyond the market finally opened back up into a main thoroughfare with what looked like the most important buildings. These buildings had up to the three stories, most of them looking like they belonged to individual families. There was one building in particular with a line wrapped out around it.

"Water," Radkov cut her off as she opened her mouth. "Water barons wield the power out here. Most Madcaps work for them."

"So they're the muscle?"

"Its complicated. Madcaps value their freedom but they'll work for who's paying. Most don't allow their services to be retained indefinitely."

Radkov killed the engine in front of a long, low building that reminded Anderson more of barracks. There was a central square and she recognized gallows there in the middle, the nooses shifting in a dry breeze idly. People moved around it unconcerned. Anderson couldn't help but notice a pair of deformed men chatting, their shadows lining up perfectly with those of the nooses.

"You decide you like my shoulders mutie?" Radkov looked back at her with his cutting blue stare. Anderson realized she still had her hand resting on his shoulder. She released him and got off, still studying the gallows. These people used teeth as fortune charms and still hung men. She was a long way from home. "Come on mutie."

Anderson shook her head and followed him up onto the porch and into the low building. It wasn't an office or even a lobby they entered but a full blown tavern straight out of a western film. Girls of varying deformity were on display in an assortment of garments, all of them exposing expanses of toned muscle and generous cleavage, generally brightly colored. They sashayed by with beers or leaned over poker tables suggestively, flirting with men equally as varied in shape, size, and color. Strangely they all seemed beautiful to Anderson, composed of muscle and sinew, sun kissed skin, and feral movements. All of them were armed in an assortment of guns and knives belted to hips, across backs, around a few long, lean, toned thighs. And all of them wore hats ranging from ball caps to top hats, and each hat had pinned to it an icon of a spear and the eye of a peacock feather cast in metal.

Radkov waded ahead with Anderson still in tow, her eyes ranging around the room. Nobody bothered to look at her, all of them far more interested in their conversations and activities. Following Radkov's lead when they reached the bar Anderson hooked her elbows over and they waited on the barkeep, a solid woman with only one of three eyes remaining in her skull and thick, dark braids hanging down over her bare shoulders. There were lines around her mouth, crows feet around the patches of her regular eyes and even some about the one set in her slightly elongated forehead, the one remaining. Her arms were all brawn, almost as wide as Anderson's calf and she was about seven feet tall, hands the size of dinner plates.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, her hands spread over the counter, seven fingers on one and three on the other and four nubs marking the loss of the other digits. Deep, smoky, her voice was lightly accented. Anderson couldn't help but look up at her face, marveling at the pale violet color of the remaining eye and the glittering bottle caps knotted into her hair decoratively. "A Judge eh? Not much for manners, you Judges," the bartender smirked wryly. She must have been in her forties Anderson guessed.

"No, sorry..." she stammered, flushing pink with shame. What should she say? How did one recover from gawking at a mutant? Certainly announcing that she thought the woman pretty wouldn't have been believable. "Your eye is such a pretty violet," she answered at last, staring back up at it. The eyebrows over the patches of her regular eyes went up.

"A sweet cover up," she said, though there seemed to be less venom. Radkov elbowed her sharply. "So what'll it be?"

"We need – "

"I asked the lady," the bartender gave Radkove a withering glare as he started to speak.

"I would like to ask for two escorts for the duration of my time in Roanoke," Anderson replied, looking back up into the violet eye fixed on her. "The Master of Commerce requires it before he will grant Dr. Hargrave's Writ of Commerce. I am, as you noticed, unfamiliar with territory and practices here."

"Hargrave eh? Strange little man," the bartender pursed her lips. She hooked a mug with her three fingered hand and pulled a hand carved wooden tap with the seven fingered hand. "You a strange Judge. Most don't let anyone speak for them."

"Radkov knows the territory better. I'm trying to minimize my offenses." Anderson's rueful grin induced one in the bartender. She finished pouring the beer, the large mug rendered petite in her too big hands, and pushed it down the bar at a man with webbed fingers and what looked like spiky fins laid flat against his sinewy forearms.

"I can think of worse sins. You know what we are then?"

"The Master of Commerce just called you Madcaps, and from what I gather you're more or less the law around here."

"More or less," she nodded. "Amongst us we go by Murugans but I s'pose most of ours are 'madcap' schemes. What have you to barter and maybe I can point out two who might be amenable to your methods of payment."

"Water, medical supplies, I've got some creds from over the Wall, or I could always pull a favor in return."

The bartender laughed, her amusement radiant and not mean spirited by the feel of it. For some reason she seemed to find Anderson charming, something that stirred nostalgia and even warmth in her responses.

"A Murugan's work is hard, even for a Judge. And even then your strict sense of morals might not have the stomach for it," she said, all dimples beneath the eye patches and the laugh lines. "What business brought you here? We only see Judges as stray cadets or the occasional instructor, lost after a 'hot dog' run."

"Training," Anderson threw a leg over the bar stool, liking the bartender. Everything about the woman felt like a smile despite the scars corresponding to mental wounds, the signs of a fighter. She was one of the Madcaps, the Murugans. She'd seen action, fought, killed.

"Things are so bad over the Walls?" she folded her arms and leaned her elbows on the bar, exposing a generous shot of cleavage.

"Not more than usual," Anderson shrugged, wishing she could be honest. It was foolish to risk herself out here. There was no telling what the bartender or the other Murugans would do if they knew she was psychic. She couldn't even trust most of her fellow Judges with that information, at least not yet.

"Well, if a woman has no secrets she has no allure," the bartender shrugged. "Start with Devon Marquerik. He usually barters in water or dyes, though fruit comes dear in these parts and they say Marquerik has a taste for it."

"Thank you, miss?"

"Malai Lago," she held out one giant hand. Anderson put out hers and allowed Malai's to swallow it in one palm. "Marquerik is there with the colorful mane," she nodded at table towards the center of the room with only one occupant.

His hands were big too Anderson noted, possibly because she was still marveling at the sensation of being doll sized compared to Malai. Devon's fingers were tipped in dark claws and curled around a hand carved pipe, smoke spiraling out of it. His jaws were square, exaggerated in their sharp edges, his nose broad and wide, all of him like cut granite beneath a stern brow. He had a tawny beard and long hair that curled around his shoulders, his eyes a feline gold with dilated pupils fixed almost absently on a point off in the distance. Anderson extended the barest tendril of awareness towards him, reaching for the rustle of thoughts like water gurgling in a fountain in one of MC1's parks. Devon's eyes shot to her, pupils narrowing to pin pricks, fixing on her as his mind shifted into something sharp and burning, forcing her to instinctively recoil as pain lanced between her temples.

Radkov moved a step forward, arms loose. Anderson stood up, feeling him ready for a fight now. She got up and put a hand on his arm.

"Stay here," she advised, moving forward as if in a dream. The noise of the other minds around her vanished, all of her intent hovering around this bristled mind. Devon watched her approach, unmoving but for the shift of his eyes so their gazes could remain locked. Anderson's hands curled around the back of the chair opposite the Murugan, his head bereft of a hat but the lance and feather pin was at his throat securing an old bandana.

"You're a psychic," she said softly and his defenses seemed to flare. He puffed silently, his eyes inhuman as they gazed unblinkingly at her. Finally his attention dropped down to her chest, to the badge there over her heart. He detailed the wear and tear before his pupils crept back up to meet her gaze. The hand not holding the pipe gestured at the chair she gripped as the spines in his mind relaxed into the barest bristle, forbidding rather than hostile.

Anderson couldn't help her senses as she moved around his mind, brushing the prickles like a child testing the spines of a cactus against the pads of her fingers. Devon made no answer but to leave his defenses in tact as she marveled. Neither of them said a word for nearly two minutes before she leaned back.

"I've never met anyone else..." she told him, pressing her hands between her knees in a childhood movement of uncertainty. "I'm sorry if I seem...rude."

"Forceful is all," Devon said, his voice dark and rich. "Used to Fives instead of Sixes."

"What's a 'Five'?"

Devon pulled the pipe out of his teeth, smoke curling up around him, golden eyes never blinking.

"Five senses. What business here with a Murugan, with me?"

"No writ without two Murugans watching me," Anderson answered. The skin around Devon's eyes tightened in a minute shift of expression. Amusement? Annoyance? Both? "Could you be convinced?"

"What have you to offer in exchange?" He set his pipe between his teeth and puffed again, his gaze leaving her for the first time as he looked around the room.

"Water, MC1 credits, medical supplies," she shrugged. "What's your price?"

Devon was quiet a long time. She dearly wishes she could sense what lay beneath, if only for the sake of feeling a mind akin to hers. He pulled the pipe back out of his mouth and leaned forward.

"Your business isn't here Judge. That's why you surrender your independence. Truth. Give me truth and if it is...interesting I will work for a share in your rations."

Anderson leaned forward too, her elbows on the table.

"Only if I know you're telling the truth," she tapped her temple, her eyebrows quirking in the barest challenge. Devon's face didn't so much as twitch but suddenly she could feel his defenses fall away, exposing a mind dark in the way of deep water. And just like deep water she could feel the currents shifting beneath the surface. Feeling a bit like a clumsy child Anderson plunged in, settling in at a level where she could normally feel confident in judging a person's honesty. In passing she gleaned he was more curious than anything, restless and bored in the city, considering striking out from Roanoke.

_'I'm in search of a particular psychic near Salem so I can learn to work like a 'Six' and deal with them,' _she informed him. Her thoughts seemed to expand and diffuse through him, stirring in him more curiosity.

_Which psychic?_

_'Beatrice Amanirenas, near the Green River.'_

_The Green Witch,_ he mentally nodded, his expression never changing, no other muscle moving. The name summoned only allusions, fragmented mentions of sacrifice and floods, a view of a corrosive river and the goat and coins he'd left staked once when it was necessary to pass through her territory. She was respected, revered, not a Murugan but known by most of them through Roanoke and nearby areas. She felt a link in that thought and wanted to follow it but held back.

_Shy,_ he thought with a faint touch of approval. _Respectful despite your curiosity._ More thoughts followed behind this one, questions really about her. How had she been allowed to stay MC1, why was she sent into the wilds now, what was she doing a Judge?

_'In MC1 I'm counted unusually powerful,' _she replied, not as a boast but a modest statement. Much deeper, below the level of his mind where she had settled she felt the beginnings of a rumble but it didn't surface and she didn't seek it out.

_Apprehension. What then?_

_'Asses Taharka and Sunakarib and if they're found a threat eliminate them.'_

The Leviathan somewhere in the deep stirred, coming close enough that she almost shied away. Whatever Devon was he was very powerful. The man rose and his hand curled around her chin, lifting it not roughly but firmly. His eyes blazed suddenly, alight with fire as she was immersed in a mind that had seen more than most, made ancient by experience instead of age.

"Peace boy," Devon rumbled like distant thunder. Anderson realized Radkov was behind her, halfway to his gun. "A Judge without judgment. Your city would send you to slaughter and yet you march along even with the barbs of their cruelty still stuck in your heart and flesh. You will die."

"Someday," Anderson answered, standing up. "Perhaps this mission, perhaps another. But my loyalty is to my city and the souls therein. Should I find another Murugan?"

"No." He moved as if to touch her again but shifted to tamping out the embers in his pipe. "Wynne," he turned and looked over several tables. A woman made of lean muscle and long limbs turned around, a ragged old stetson perched on her head with the Murugan badge. Her profile was sharp cheeks and a delicate nose, long lashes around a luminous dark eye, jet black hair falling in sheets down between her shoulder blades. In nothing but a pair of hot pants, a tank top, and a gun belt with a hunting knife jammed in one boot she was more skin than cloth. "We're taking a job."

"Oh?" She folded her poker hand and stood up, the chair scraping backwards. She was a head taller than Anderson and beautifully proportioned. "I can't wait." Her smile stretched over her copper cheeks as she turned and Anderson saw what she thought at first was a gaping pit in the left side of the woman's head. Blinking she realized it was an eye the size of a cue ball, the pupil a pale spark like a distant star in the glistening black void. As the woman fixed Anderson in her sights, the smaller, pale psychic felt a wave of sickness seize her insides.

"I only need your services here in Roanoke," Anderson looked at Devon.

"You'll need them out there. I'm certain you haven't brought an army and Wynne is almost one on her own. Its we two or no other Murugans will barter."

_This_ she felt was true, a vow in iron. Anderson almost growled, irritated her wonder had led her into such a foolish mistake. Because _she_ had felt camaraderie for their psychic connection didn't mean he had. Psychics were apparently common enough here that they could be choosy in their alliances. Damn near twenty two and still making the same mistakes as when she was five.

Feeling there was nothing else to do Anderson stuck out her hand. Devon shook, bending just enough to catch her eye and fix her again in his gaze.

"I'll cast my lot with yours. Taharka owes me blood and Wynne has her wants, much as a monster can. There'll be no treachery from these quarters."

This too felt true. Mollified and now bracing for disapproval from another party she sighed and pulled back her hand.

"Lets get our writ established, Radkov."

"If I get blamed for this," he gestured irritably at Devon and Wynne coming to stand beside him.

"Blamed for what?" she shot him a sharp look. "For being met with suspicion? No, the badge and brain manage that here. Lets get done what we need to get done." Radkov seemed surprised by the venom in her tone. He just fell in behind her with the two Murugans as she wondered what Dredd would say about their tagalongs. She was certain it would involve disappointment and that made her supremely uncomfortable. Perhaps there would be a later opportunity to redeem herself.


	9. Murugans and Monsters

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the Judge Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N: **Please be patient with me and my grammatical errors. I will have more time to correct them in the coming weeks and I'm sorry they've been more than normal. I will fix them I promise! Many thanks to all of you who review too! I forgot to put that in on the last chapter!

Chapter 9: Murugans and Monsters

By the time they finally were led through the mines and into town sunset had thrown a bloody light onto the sweltering, reeking, overpopulated slum that marked out this shanty town. Dredd had been restless all afternoon, fighting the urge to demand an update from Anderson for lack of anything better to do. Rosenberg was passable company, busy over a palm sized computer and the steady tap of a stylus. He didn't make conversation and Dredd didn't offer any.

Hargrave had circulated in frequent checks as they waited on permission. Dredd didn't have anything to say but Hargrave was happily amenable to one sided conversations about any and everything. He was easily enough distracted in tangents and his attention stolen by whoever else happened to be passing by.

So by journey's end Dredd was almost relieved to see Anderson perched side saddle on her Lawmaster, heels resting on an exhaust pipe so she could brace her elbows and her chin occupied the ledge made by her fists. It was a girlish position, one that reminded him suddenly she was barely out of her teens. Her hair looked a little wind blown, the tawny curls splayed around her face, dark eyes almost glowing amber in a wine and saffron sunbeam. She seemed thoughtful, distant.

Her eyelashes fluttered and the moment passed as her head turned to link their gazes in a familiar pattern. At once Anderson as he knew her returned. She seemed...ruffled. Dredd pulled his bike in along side hers and she didn't so much as shift, watching him snap the kickstand into place and kill the engine. He glanced then at Radkov sitting in the dirt rolling dice with a muscular, lean woman in almost no clothing. Beyond them was a behemoth of a man with a colorful lion's mane smoking a pipe.

"Friends?" he prompted the almost sprite like appearance of Anderson on her bike. With her pale skin contrasted to the healthy tans around them she was an ethereal creature on her much bigger bike, a clean spot amid the grime.

"Baby sitters. No guards, no writ, further delays. They've decided to throw in with Psi-division though, at least so far as Taharka and Sunakarib." All this was said without lifting her head, her eyes fixed on him through her lashes with the resignation of one awaiting a reprimand. Their orders weren't confidential outside the walls and connections had to be established so he wasn't particularly concerned from that end.

"They're trustworthy?"

"They're psychics. I'm only good enough to read what they let me," she shrugged, again without lifting her head.

"Doctor Hargrave!" Greeted a hunch backed man with elephant skin coming out onto the porch of the medical facilities where Hargrave would be based. Hargrave's long legs hurried him to the squat, deformed man and they embraced like brothers.

"Karrow! Its been far too long," Hargrave laughed.

"Well come in! Come in! Get your things secured and we'll see everyone to a bed!" Karrow advised, his teeth jagged and uneven in a welcoming smile. The parade of volunteer doctors hurried after the two head physicians, personal items slung over their backs and crates carried between them. Dredd and Anderson watched them silently together.

"They read minds?" Dredd turned back to her when some of the hubbub had died down.

"No sir," she shook her head. "Devon's an Empath and Wynne's...something considerably more useful in offense. Her defenses haven't come down yet but I gather from surrounding minds she's a useful ally and terrible foe." Anderson straightened up enough to cross her arms over her knees and looked back at the other psychics. "Devon Marquerik's the man, and Wynne Elliot's the woman."

Anderson stared at him when he just nodded, the skin around her eyes tight. She was waiting for his reply, for a negative reaction. He realized she felt she'd done poorly, made some mistake, and was waiting on his disapproval.

"We play by town rules so long as they're not illegal Anderson," he said at last. "Sometimes they're inconvenient." A visible frown moved her features and he found himself wondering why she was so careful not to climb into his thoughts. She said it was due to the rawness of thought but he wondered how many psychics had that sort of restraint. "What about this place?" he swung off the bike and turned to face her, leaning back against the seat with his arms crossed.

"The town or the clinic?" she asked.

"Both."

"The town's a mess. I've never seen poverty like this before. Peach Trees was a comparative paradise," she shot him the beginnings of a smirk. "There seems to be steady trade from MC1, mostly antiques and reclamations from the Cursed Earth exchanged for food stuffs. Population of about ten thousand with seasonal depletion when it comes to harvesting nearby farms. Big game hunting – I guess the Gici Awas are prey as often as predator. The average person here, their mind is harder, grizzled, but there's a significant measure of pride and...happiness is wrong. Satisfaction? Maybe."

"Are they hostile?"

"Suspicious of Judges, disdainful, but not hostile. Though they price everything three times its worth the minute they look at us," she shrugged. "Most of the injuries in the clinic are from fist fights and there's an outbreak of cholera. Don't drink any water that hasn't been boiled."

"No purification systems huh," he remarked and was rewarded by her chuckle.

The lion man swung up and came down the steps, knocking the ember out of his pipe. His tawny mane had streaks of indigo and red. Dredd was familiar with the abject poverty of the Cursed Earth, or at least enough to know that access to dyes – while not totally uncommon between the few mutated plants that could scratch out a living and trade with MC1 – marked him as successful. Wealthy probably was the wrong term for a bounty hunter. His spurs jingled musically and his clothing was utilitarian, worn leather biker boots, jeans, his white shirt with sleeves rolled back and a black leather vest with a red bandanna at his throat. There was a clip keeping the bandana in place, a lance and the eye of a peacock feather.

"Devon Marquerik," he held out one enormous hand tipped in claws. Dredd saw the pistol slung at one hip and the hunting knife at the other, all of him combat ready. He stood up straight, still a few inches south of equal to the lion man's height.

"Dredd," he replied, taking the hand and shaking.

"She is your student?" his golden eyes were distant, disconnected somehow as they flicked to Anderson.

"No," Dredd answered. Devon glanced between them again and nodded to himself. Dredd wondered what conclusion was reached but found he didn't particularly care. Devon was an obligation at present. While he didn't like it, Dredd wasn't stupid enough to jeopardize good will out here for something trivial. He'd fought mutants before and even if they were savages one had to respect those that could scrape by in the wastes. Spitting on offered cooperation over the formalities of a baby sitter to pacify local law was foolhardy and likely to get them killed.

"My counterpart is Wynne Elliot," he motioned back at the woman with long, mocha limbs and sheets of dark hair. Rosenberg had gone to see what Radkov was doing. Prickly as he was Radkov just looked bored as he explained the terms of the dice game to his comrade and Wynne was patient, allowing the dice to tumble back and forth across her slender hands. She too had a pistol and a knife, a stetson casting a shadow over her head and shoulders.

"Anderson says you're an Empath. What's she?" Dredd looked back at Devon.

"Decay," Devon answered simply. Dredd's eyes shot back to the woman and she turned to look at him. Not at him he corrected but at Anderson, who had gotten off her bike and taken a few steps forward, her senses honed in a familiar expression of searching. Dredd watched the light wink off Wynne's spear and feather pin but the giant black eye in her skull stole his attention. It was unsettling and hideous, all the more so for her apparent beauty. Wynne smiled and tapped the side of her head, clucking at Anderson who shivered and recoiled.

"Clumsy Telepath," she said and went back to her dice. Dredd's hand was on his Lawgiver, muscles in his jaw standing out as Anderson braced against her Lawmaster, her face green.

"She'll stay true," Devon advised. "But we'll want to be inside soon. Night is bitter out here."

The Murugan turned around and as he passed Wynne he hooked a finger under the brim of her hat and pushed it forward. Wynne looked up at him before rising to her feet fluidly, slapping dust off the bit of cloth covering her back side and running her hands down her shapely thighs for presumably the same reason. She threw a coy smile back at Dredd however before following Devon inside. Radkov stood up too and followed Rosenberg to the truck.

"What happened?" Dredd finally relaxed his grip on the butt of his Lawgiver. Anderson drew a few deep breaths as the green began to fade.

"She worries me," Anderson shook her head. "It could just be the nature of her psychic ability that unsettles me but I want to know what she is and what I can do if she turns. Devon I feel is a safe bet but she..." Anderson shuddered and looked like she might puke. "I'll take watch midnight to four."

Dredd reached in a saddle bag and pulled out a water for her. Braced like she was the chip in the back of her head gleamed. He twisted the lid open with a satisfying crack and held the bottled water out. She accepted it, the barest tremors in her arm as she took a long drink, a sheen of sweat edging one side of her face in the sunset red.

"Thanks," she took another couple of deep breaths and seemed sound again. He offered the cap but she polished off the water. With another shake of her head her skin seemed normal again and she sealed the empty bottle before hooking her night bag over one shoulder. Dredd followed her example and they moved together towards the clinic.

Inside it was bustling with activity, crates of medical supplies opened and volunteer medics pulling things out of their careful packing. Dredd and Anderson were careful to avoid running into anyone, a feat considering they were totally oblivious to anything but themselves. They worked like an ant hill, organized without direction, seeming to know exactly what needed doing and their duties to see it done.

Hargrave and the gargoyle doctor Karrow were orchestrating everything in the surprisingly spacious interior. Hargrave noticed them only long enough to smile before resuming his instruction. Dredd spotted Wynne leaning in long lines against a door frame, her head tilted towards them so that only her human eye was visible. She smiled at him beneath the brim of her hat and cricked her finger in a 'come hither' fashion. Anderson cut in front of him even as he was repulsed and though he was no psychic, Dredd could read an almost animal defensiveness in her posture. Wynne's smile got wider, her eye narrowing on Anderson, and she sauntered down the hall.

Anderson and Dredd followed to a room filled with bunks. The mattresses were thin pallets and mostly claimed further back into the room. Those closest to the door suited Dredd just fine. He threw his bag on the lower bunk while Anderson moved to throw hers onto the bunk above him. Wynne leaned her head and shoulder against their bunk, all her weight on one leg so her hip was cocked suggestively.

"Wanna trade bunk mates?" she asked of Anderson, her eyes on Dredd instead. His usual scowl deepened.

"No thanks," Anderson answered without looking back. Her bag landed on the pallet. Dredd was caught between them as Wynne came closer and tapped his badge.

"Well, I suppose I could always just share with _you_ Judge," she remarked.

"Against regulation," Dredd brushed her hand away.

"She's a mutie too you know," Wynne observed, almost off hand as she quirked the eyebrow over her good eye. That gaping black eye was fixed on him too, so intense he felt like it might burn a hole through his helmet and into his skull. Apart from the brief annoyance at the continual assumption that he and Anderson were involved he felt a flare of protective anger.

"She's a Judge," he corrected.

"Is that why she's a Judge?" Wynne cocked her head, a different sort of hunger filling her eyes. "So she's legitimate game?"

"Take a shot if you think she needed me to make her a Judge," Dredd answered, looking her dead in the eye. There was still the visor between the two of them. "Your funeral." Across the way on his bunk Devon watched the interaction.

"Sir," Rosenberg's voice came. Dredd didn't turn so the Tek came around and stood to one side. "Dinner in the mess."

"You've already eaten Wynne. Why don't you get some sleep?" Devon suggested, getting up.

"I'm not full," she said without looking away from Dredd.

"It might ruin your girlish figure. Get some rest." Devon took her shoulders and turned her away. She kept her eyes on Dredd as long as she could. When she climbed up onto the opposing top bunk she turned and sat staring at Anderson instead. The smaller psychic pointedly turned and walked away.

"She likes a challenge," was all Devon said as they made their way to dinner.

It was a communal affair not unlike days at the Academy. A heavy flat bread was served with a basic spaghetti. They drank hot water faintly discolored by iodine as an extra precaution. Anderson sat to one side with Rosenberg on the other. There was little conversation from the three of them but Radkov had been attached to a group of female medics further down the table as they vied for his favor in rather overt displays of coquetry.

After the meal they tracked back to the dorms where Wynne's back faced them, her breathing steady. Anderson stripped her outer armor and hung it on a peg before grabbing her overnight bag and making for one of the changing screens. Dredd noticed she didn't bother removing her Lawgiver. As for himself he settled in a chair between his bunk and the next.

"Watches?" Rosenberg asked from the top of the neighboring bunk.

"4 am. Tomorrow Radkov will take it," Dredd replied. Rosenberg just nodded and disappeared, settling down beneath the scratchy blanket available. Radkov was sitting on the bottom bunk, pulling off his boots and stripping out of his coveralls. He just gave Dredd a two fingered salute, peeling out of his undershirt and rolling over in boxers.

Anderson returned in a moment, barefoot in shorts and a tank top, gun still belted across her hips. She slid her bag underneath Dredd's bunk and with a quick contraction of muscles was perched in her bed. She shot a last acidic look at Wynne before settling down facing the bunk with their two mutant watchmen. It didn't escape Dredd's notice that Devon had done a quick double take at Anderson's smooth, pale skin and trim, athletic physique. His inhuman eyes made it hard to tell exactly whether it was surprise or something considerably less honorable that drew his focus back. Dredd settled himself with a noisy scrape of the chair, drawing Devon's eyes. Devon stared at him for a moment before simply rolling over and seeming to settle for sleep.

"Wake me up for my turn," Anderson said above him, a glimpse of dark eyes and tawny curls. He nodded once. She drifted off quickly, probably tired after such extensive use of her skills. Most of the medics came in about an hour after Dredd's party were asleep, hushed chatter passing between them filled in equal measures of seriousness and anticipation. They settled in without seeming to notice him seated in quiet guardianship.

"No rest?" Hargrave inquired in another hour when he came in for a spell of rest himself. Dredd shook his head. "Our girl looked tired today. Madcaps are a handful. I don't blame her being so worn. But she landed two of the best. Devon's honorable. He's helped me many times, often for a discount. And Wynne's a good girl for her wayward nature. Hard life little thing."

Dredd kept his thoughts to himself. Hargrave studied the sleeping forms across from them. He stretched stiffly, his lean frame becoming even thinner.

"Good night Judge Dredd. Get you some good rest. Salem will be eventful." Hargrave drifted away with light steps. The last lights went out and Dredd was left in blackness but for the silvery rays filtering in from a window in the next room. He waited until the display in his glove read midnight before removing his boots and outer armor, setting his helmet down on the bed between himself and the wall. His Lawgiver he settled a little further down, within easy reaching distance.

He couldn't quite make out which folds of blanket were what on Anderson. Reaching out slowly he found what he thought might be a shoulder. It was actually an awkwardly folded wrist. Closing his callused fingers over it he squeezed, drawing the cool flesh further towards the edge of the bed. She shifted and one eye opened. The faint light behind him reflected in a single point on her iris, like the first evening star. Satisfied she was awake he settled in his own bunk.

She landed almost soundless a half minute later and took up the chair he'd vacated. In the dark she almost seemed to glow very faintly, her pale skin edged by the barest silver light from the next room. Perching one small foot on Radkov's bed she settled back, the Lawgiver a dark shape across her lap as she settled in to keep watch. With the last thought that Anderson would probably make an excellent watchmen whether or not there was light he relaxed enough to give in to sleep.

* * *

When Dredd was awake, dressed, and headed out onto the porch for a survey of the area before dawn he was almost startled to see Anderson sitting on the steps french braiding her damp hair. Rosenberg had been sitting up for his watch and it was still dark enough that Dredd couldn't make out anything but a rumpled blanket that in his peripheral awareness hadn't meant anything was amiss. The other bunks had the Madcaps still asleep and that had been his main focus.

But there was Anderson, her lips almost blue as she breathed out plumes of steam and worked her small fingers back through the hair, carefully weaving it into a fixed position despite its shortness. Bobby pins were set between her teeth to secure the last strays. With the beginnings of dawn coloring the horizon he could only barely know her by sight. It was the smell of her shampoo that clued him in. That smell was forever associated with her. After her assessment he'd run into her in medical at the Hall of Justice. She'd taken the time to shower and her hair was still damp, the scent of her shampoo standing out to him over that of sickness and antiseptic.

"You're up early," Anderson twisted her whole torso so she wouldn't disrupt the workings of her braid. Dredd came and stood next to her, crossing his arms as he looked over the gleaming tin roofs and watched the horizon slowly lighten.

"Couldn't sleep?" he prompted.

"No," was her only answer as she snapped a tie around her braid. "The sooner we make it to Salem and Amanirenas the better."

"Anxious?"

"Pissed off," she stood up, her bare arms prickled in the cold. She jammed the bobby pins in place, untied the arms of her uniform from around her waist and pulled them up, zipping the front closed. "The faster I get a handle on this the less time I spend under someone else's thumb." She pointed at her temple to indicate her psychic ability. Dredd almost smirked.

"Not used to the disadvantage?" he almost teased. Her eyes shot back to him with a fire that brought him perilously close to a smile. She slung her armored vest on and with a crisp movement checked the ammunition in her lawgiver.

"Its possible," she conceded with such visible effort in the admission that he took a very careful breath before saying anything else.

"Wake the boys," he suggested. Anderson stormed inside.

In about a half hour the Teks were both dressed and ready to go, the hummer unloaded of medical supplies and repacked with the extra provisions and belongings of Wynne and Devon. The pair of them both had sturdy bikes and were at present checking them before the journey. When she was done Wynne lounged on her bike with the languid satisfaction of a cat in the early morning sun. It had been about forty degrees before sunrise and at only a few minutes after the sun had fully risen it was sixty.

"Just something before you go my girl," Hargrave badgered Anderson, pressing a cool mug into her hand. "Drink up and then you're free to pursue your teacher. And do remember to visit the village 'crank'. Radkov will know where to find him but it is imperative you make the proper offerings."

In short order they were pressing through the slowly filling streets and out into the wastes again, the Green River to the north and keeping them company with the hushed murmur of rushing water. Anderson kept to the rear of the convoy despite her restless energy. Devon kept near her while Wynne made a point of keeping at Dredd's flank at the front. Radkov intermittently directed their course over the glove comm.

The Green River fed a toxic marsh which appeared to them about noon. It ranged from sickly green puddles to emerald ponds several hundred feet across. Bristly shrub had composed most of the surrounding flora but in the marsh absolutely nothing grew. The ghastly structures of old buildings sometimes reached a last metal beam up in a pitiful reminder of things that were but otherwise there was nothing but dead earth and corrosive pools.

There were no bridges sturdy enough for heavy machinery to cross so they swung south the long way. A few places had rickety looking bridges like skeletal spines stretching delicately from one safe spot to the next. At about two they were finally able to push west and by four they were angling north again until sunset arrived and they met again with the Green River itself.

"We've got sensors on board," Rosenberg said after a halt had been called. "We could keep going but you four only have the bikes. Its safer to travel in daylight and I'm not sure what might be attracted to our headlights. Your call," he looked between Anderson and Dredd. Dredd looked at Anderson and the psychic – without her helmet on again – raised her eyebrows. He shrugged and she turned to look at the wide band of water.

"How much farther?" she asked softly, her back to them.

"Another four hours," Radkov answered.

"The moon's almost full," Rosenberg offered.

"Make camp," she shook her head. "What kind of predation is in the area?"

"Gitaskog," Radkov almost grumbled. Wynne snickered. Anderson shot her a look over her shoulder that would have done any professor in the Academy proud. "Amanirenas' pet, a horned snake."

"Myth," Devon shook his head. "You're looking more at Pukwudgies and Cudo Wolves. The wolves have a poisonous bite – disease in the grooves of their fangs – and Pukwudgies are something akin to weasels and they get into everything. They do more damage to things than people."

"How do they feel about Gici Awas?" Rosenberg asked.

"Gici Awas are apex predators."

"I think I managed to isolate the pheromones from the samples I took. I should be able to mark our camp out like a territory."

"Risks?" Dredd prompted.

"Maybe we'll attract a mate," Rosenberg shrugged, extracting a vial from his belt and holding it up. "I read the dossier. I don't think they're nocturnal."

"So we'll make sure we're on the move again at dawn," Anderson nodded. Rosenberg nodded and trotted away to mark out a perimeter.

Dinner was little more than a nutrient bar each and a cup of water. Wynne wrinkled her nose and took her bike, heading out into the dark until the sound of her engine was nothing but a distant rumble.

"We can get four bodies in the hummer," Rosenberg informed Anderson and Dredd as the last curve of sun dipped beyond the horizon.

"We'll run in doubles for watch," Dredd replied simply. "Marquerik and I on first, Anderson and Elliot second, Radkov and Rosenberg third." Signs of confirmation went around the group as the two Teks shuffled inside and Anderson followed, leaving Dredd and Marquerik in the rapidly encroaching darkness.

"Easier to take the high ground," Marquerik advised, hauling himself up onto the roof where he pulled out his pipe and began packing a bowl. Tobacco was illegal except for particular bars in Mega City One but then the laws were different out here. Smoking was a minor infraction and even if it was foolish after so much research proving its detriment to longevity Dredd supposed Marquerik's chances of living long enough to develop cancer were slim to none. Life expectancy ended at about sixty, when most people could no longer escape predators or the high odds of an accident or natural disaster caught up.

Dredd pulled himself up and they settled around the heavy gun turret protruding from the roof, facing opposite directions. In the distance Dredd could still make out the faint glow along the horizon of Mega City One, an orange smear of light like embers. Above that though came the stars, more than he'd ever seen before. He swept the area for any signs of disturbance and then looked back up in search of constellations. There were so many he couldn't discern which groups might make pictures as one of his science professors insisted there were. Rather than try he followed the band of the Milky Way and wondered how many people back in the city even bothered to look up.

Inside the hummer he could make out the soft sound of conversation, Radkov and Rosenberg's voices, a few lines from Anderson here and there. As the moon appeared like a cue ball, just shy of full, the noises inside simmered down. Marquerik's pipe smoke wafted by, not wholly unpleasant, spicy.

"Where's Elliot?" Dredd asked after a long time, the darkness bringing an icy chill with it.

"Hunting perhaps. She comes and goes."

"Alone?"

"She'll be back by dawn."

Marquerik didn't seem worried in the least and Dredd had no attachment to the disconcerting mutant so he let it go. If Wynne didn't come back Anderson might be more at ease. She wasn't high strung but something about Wynne triggered a visceral reaction in Anderson, one Dredd felt better about heeding.

"How'd a psychic wind up a Judge?" Marquerik asked after another span of quiet.

"She passed her assessment," Dredd answered flatly. Marquerik puffed quietly behind him.

"What is that thing on the back of her head?"

"A sensor."

"I mean her no harm Judge, and my intentions are pure."

"If you're interested I suggest you ask Anderson."

"What Wynne said offended you," Marquerik continued. "You were offended on behalf of Anderson. Why?"

Dredd felt no need to answer the question. It didn't require much introspection. Quite the contrary. Anderson had earned not only his respect but his trust. She had both until she did something that betrayed them. Such an event was filed away under remote possibilities, in the farthest corner of his mind. It was only even there because he felt nothing was absolutely impossible.

Marquerik didn't push it further and so the question was left unanswered in the night. It was coming up on midnight when one of the doors popped open and Anderson's pale hair shone in the moonlight.

"Are you sure nothing shows up?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Nothing sir," Rosenberg answered, his voice thick with sleep. Anderson cut around the hummer and moved a few more steps towards the banks of the Green, still a good fifty meters off.

"What is it?" Dredd called down. Anderson didn't look back and stood perfectly still. Dredd waited for her assessment.

"Its an animal mind," she answered. "Intelligent but not human. Its coming closer. From...that direction," she pointed upriver. "I can't tell...I don't know what it is. It hasn't noticed us but its hungry and...its not afraid. There's no fear."

"Meaning?" Dredd prompted, sliding off the roof to land solidly on the ground. He came to Anderson's side, her eyebrows drawn together in fierce concentration.

"Predator, definitely," she clarified after a few second lag.

"Nothing's coming up on the sensors," Rosenberg repeated, a little more alert.

"Can you tell if its in the river?" Radkov's head popped out.

"Impossible," Marquerik shook his head. "I've seen that river pull down metal in a matter of minutes."

"See if you can tell its swimming," Radkov insisted. Anderson took a few more steps towards the bank. Dredd's Lawgiver was at hand as he followed. She stopped and crouched down, knuckles resting on the cracked earth.

"I – it – needs to breathe. Its holding it's breath," she answered and slowly opened her eyes. "It smells the pheromones. We smell like prey."

"Radkov," Dredd turned around.

"On it!" Radkov yelled as the engine snarled to life.

"Something just surfaced on the radar," Rosenberg called out window. Devon rolled off the roof and flung himself onto his bike.

"We need to get inland," Anderson straightened, shaking herself back into focus like a dreamer just waking. She and Dredd both settled on the bikes and turned the engines over. Devon cut into the lead, the hummer falling behind with Anderson and Dredd to one side moving away from the banks as quickly as they dared.

"18 meters of something is gaining," Rosenberg announced as the ground began to tremble.

"You're a better shot Dredd. Want me to play bait?" Anderson asked over the comm. 'No' was the immediate answer but he didn't know what else to do either.

"Careful in the dark," he advised instead.

"Rosenberg, let me have that vial," she ordered, her Lawmaster veering towards the hummer. Rosenberg was suddenly hanging out the window and they managed a high speed pass off. Marquerik came in close and shouted at her over the roar of the wind. She seemed to shake some of the vial onto her helmet and pass him whatever was left. He did likewise and the pair of them both braked and fell back. Dredd swung his bike around, reaching for the rifle secured to his Lawmaster as a last minute insistence by Radkov before they'd left the city.

"Can you see it yet?" Rosenberg asked as Dredd flipped the rifle's targeting system to infrared.

"Devon owes you a drink Radkov," Anderson replied, her voice grim with ironic humor. "Its a horned snake."

"Keep him alive then mutie so he can pay up," Radkov rumbled as the infrared scanner picked up on the undulating coils of something warm moving rapidly towards them. He could see Anderson and Devon both veer off as the serpent reared back, the faint lines of heat sketching out what looked like horns.

Dredd squeezed the trigger and felt the recoil through his shoulder as the shot cracked like thunder. The red serpent's head jerked back, the raised portion tipping, before it seemed to shake off the shot and snap at one of the bikes. Dredd almost growled a curse as he ejected the spent shell and braced the rifle on one shoulder. He gunned the engine and roared after Anderson and Devon.

In the moonlight he could see glistening scales shimmering like steel and giant eyes reflected their headlights. Easily two meters in circumference the monolithic creature snapped after the two bikers with unbelievable speed, hissing and snarling. Dredd took two more shots, both missing the eye and only seeming to irritate the beast. Its attention shifted to him and made a lunge.

The hummer blasted at the creature's side, knocking its trajectory off a fraction of a second before it was too late. But rather than the high caliber bullets tearing it apart the monster seemed to simply roll to one side, shake off its stupor, and come at them again.

"Give me something Radkov!" Anderson shouted, the python bristling with horns all over its head like a burr streaking after her.

"We leave it goats," Radkov answered. "Nobody ever said anything about killing it."

"You make explosives!"

"I'm on it, I'm on it," he groused. "Locking on now. I'd go faster if I was you." With a loud crack something left a bright, streaming trail from the hummer. The monster snapped around just in time to take an explosion to the face. Smoking the creature collapsed, big enough to make the ground shudder. "You alive mutie?" Radkov drawled.

"Thanks to you, EOD," Anderson replied in a voice dripping with sarcasm as her headlight flashed in an about face. They quipped back and forth as Anderson headed back. Dredd was just beginning to think it would be alright when he saw some of the coils begin to shift.

"Move Anderson!" he bellowed, sighting down the rifle. He expelled a breath as time seemed to slow, the coils flexing in a ripple of muscle, before the monster heaved itself up and towards Anderson. He got two shots in rapid succession, both between the eyes and bringing its balance off so its head smashed into the ground where Anderson's back tire had been a split second before. The Lawmaster bucked forward, pitching Anderson in a high arc. Her arms pinwheeled and the serpent's horns glimmered malignantly as it reared up again, fangs dripping. Dredd hit some of the scales on the underbelly while Anderson twisted her body in the air.

The moment she hit the ground time assumed its normal pace, Anderson rolling forward in a tight ball as the Lawmaster twisted in another direction, metal and glass crunching. The hummer let loose another barrage of bullets as Anderson stumbled up from her spectacular speed roll. She turned around drunkenly, lost her balance, and collapsed onto her backside.

"Anderson move it!" Dredd yelled, his tires scrambling for purchase. She shook her head as if trying to rid herself of the disorientation, the monster thrashing dangerously near her as the hummer spattered fire at it. Hoisting herself up into a crouch with her feet braced Anderson looked up at the beast.

Very suddenly it went still, head cocked to one side staring at her. Another volley of fire hit it from the hummer and it shied away, hissing at the hummer as it swept its tail dangerously close to overturning the vehicle. It moved to spring but stopped again as if jerked by a cord and went back to staring at Anderson.

"Cease fire!" Anderson commanded. Dredd swung around a curve of scales and screamed to a halt between Anderson and the staring monster. He sighted straight down the barrel again into one eye but the monster shifted and he just missed. It hissed and Anderson caught his elbow, pulling herself up and tearing the helmet off of her head. Blood and sweat matted her hair down, half her face covered in dark smears.

"I can't get it to leave but I think I can insist it wants this spot, that if we leave it gained what it wanted," she told him, eyes never leaving the serpent.

"I'll kill it while you hold it still," he took aim at an enormous eye.

"Don't," she said, her voice sharp. "I...don't know what that would do to me connected like this." Dredd hesitated a fraction of a second.

"Get on."

"Move slow," she instructed, wincing as she hooked a leg over the seat behind him. One of her arms curled around his middle as she twisted in evident pain to continue facing the almost mesmerized beast. "Keep up with that calm thing," she added and Dredd realized that Marquerik's bike was humming nearby, one clawed hand on some of the scales. His eyes reflected moonlight in the same animal way as the beast's.

The pair of bikes slowly eased away from the monster, both psychics working their magic. The coils drew in around the beast and it stared at them over the topmost scales, all glittering eyes and horns. For a second as they put some distance between them it made as if to follow them but Anderson's hand tightened around the end of Dredd's Kevlar jacket and the beast was still again.

"Out of my range now," Marquerik announced nearby.

"Its fine," Anderson grated out. "I can...I've got it a little further..."

It was looking clear when Anderson's whole body seemed to go limp and her head thudded between Dredd's shoulder's with alarming force. He barely managed to snatch her arm as the sound of scales on rock made him look back. The monster was coming at them with renewed vigor. Dredd put on speed as did Marquerik.

All at once the creature flinched and jerked around, hissing. It snapped at something and a dark spot seemed to dart along its body. Shadows spread after the spot and in another few seconds the monster beat a retreat, hustling towards the Green like a flickering ribbon in the wind.

"What was that?" Dredd asked, braced with one foot on the ground, one hand securing Anderson's arms around his torso, and the other clutching the rifle.

"Wynne," Marquerik replied, his eyes glinting as they fixed on Anderson. "We need to get her to Salem. She's in bad shape."

The hummer pulled up beside them and Dredd carefully lifted Anderson up and carried her small frame into the vehicle. Rosenberg had blankets laid out on some of the sideways seats, crates pressed up against them to create something of a wall to prevent her falling. A med-kit was open there too. Dredd set her down thinking she must weigh nothing without her street gear.

"I'll do what I can on the way," Rosenberg vowed without looking up. He pulled her Kevlar jacket open and then the suit beneath, hitching up the undershirt to expose abrasions and bruising. Blood was caked under her nose and stained the skin at her ears.

When Dredd emerged Wynne was lounging on the handlebars of her bike, over-sized black eye reflecting the moon almost perfectly as she murmured to Devon. She sat up when she realized he was there and set her hat back a little on her head.

"Evening Judge. Was I missed?" she purred. Dredd offered no comment. "Taharka is camped in town right now. Sunakarib's fallen back into the hills to the north. I've secured us lodging. Will the darling make it a night or should I rouse the doctor?"

"Find the doctor," he replied. Wynne smiled, her teeth seeming sharp in the strange light.

"Our lodging is at the southeast edge of town. Its the local undertaker. You'll know him by the gravestones." She tipped her hat and took off ahead of everyone without so much as turning on her headlights.


	10. Impressions

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Judge Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N: **Thank you again for the reviews! They always make my day!

Chapter 10: Impressions

Anderson came around in a slurry of pain and confusion. Her skin felt all wrong and she wasn't sure if she should hold her breath or breathe. It could burn if she breathed now, breathed at the wrong time.

Her eyes popped open and all at once she remembered she was Judge Cassandra Anderson of Mega City One. She was not the Gitaskog in service to the she-creature with scales that offered him goats. Settling into her battered skin she gazed at a ceiling made of welded metal and tried not to vomit. When her stomach settled she let her eyes creep down from the rusted tin roof, sinking beyond rows of jarred goods she couldn't readily recognize, and then to the tip of a familiar helmet.

"Nng," she struggled to sit up. The helmet rose further into her view and she immediately placed the stern scowl. Dredd's hand pressed back against her shoulder lightly, insisting she stay put.

"I doubt Griffin himself could demonstrate such a speed roll," he remarked. Her smile spread up one side of her swollen face before abating at the sharp stab of pain. Her mind felt sluggish and she ached with a fatigue she had never experienced before.

"I hope he never has to," she answered as Dredd reached for something beside her. He pulled over a tin mug with a straw and helped her take a drink. The water seemed to evaporate on her tongue. Much as she wanted to drink more she fought back a wave of nausea and shut her eyes. The cup made a soft plunk as Dredd set it back on the table. "What are the damages?"

"Fractured ribs and right tibia, probably a minor concussion. Rosenberg thought it might be worse but Marquerik said you'd overtaxed your psychic ability."

"That's never happened before, not the black out," Anderson went to shake her head and immediately regretted it. Sweat appeared on her brow and she fought back more sickness. "Where are we?"

"Undertaker's in Salem." Anderson's eyes popped open again in no small degree of alarm. Dredd almost smiled at her, she was sure of it. "Laying low. Taharka and his men are staying in town. Rosenberg and Radkov are out salvaging your bike and Marquerik's taking a look around. Elliot's somewhere," he gestured vaguely. Anderson immediately pushed her senses out and their use felt something akin to crawling up a crumbling sand dune. She grimaced, brushing minds she didn't recognize.

Dredd tapped on her skull and it practically echoed. Anderson's eyes opened and she saw him shake his head.

"Don't push it."

"Bossy," she sighed, dropping the effort.

"Water," he replied. So she sipped as he commanded and afterward he helped her sit up, cushioning her on a sack of grains. She discovered she was colored in blotches of bruising and cuts, her chest and right arm aching. Stripped of her gear and left in nothing but her undershirt and panties she was grateful for the modesty afforded by a light sheet on her pallet, not that Dredd would act anything but honorably. Still it offered her enough peace of mind to converse.

"Medicine is basic out here but Rosenberg had enough in his med-kit to get you a jump start on healing. A week at most for those breaks," Dredd informed her as he resumed his chair by the door of the stock room.

"Can you imagine having to live with something like this for weeks? I read once it was at least six weeks to heal, sometimes all splinted and wrapped in casts to restrict mobility as recent as the 1990s," she remarked conversationally, carefully lifting her broken arm. It was swollen and purple. She flexed the fingers and regretted it. Dredd shrugged. "What happened to the Gitaskog?"

"Elliot drove it off."

"Alone?"

Dredd shrugged again and Anderson sighed. She was sorry she'd been unconscious. Devon's powers had been fascinating to watch, to feel his influence as she worked to sooth the beast's anger and hunger, to convince the Gitaskog that it was a dispute of territory, that it had won and the others were fleeing, to lord over this spot and give no chase. Devon's touch was cool and soothing where she conjured thoughts, the pair of them working in almost natural if unfamiliar harmony.

Something else had happened though. The memory tingled on the outside of her awareness. She reached for the cup and took a meditative slurp, eyes narrowed in pursuit.

"What?" Dredd asked.

"I can't say for certain," Anderson shook her head. "Something else happened, pushed me over the edge."

"Elliot?" he suggested. She thought very carefully, laying out the sequence of events. Flying over her handlebars, hitting the ground in a sickening series of crunches, pain, getting up dizzy, finding a predator's mind fixed on them, settling into it, soothing it, feeling and watching Devon work, moving away on the back of Dredd's bike, being so certain everything was alright and then...

Heat. Such horrible, stagnant heat that conjured sickness and decay. Her mind shuddered behind the flimsy walls she had once thought solid, the paper thin barrier between her thoughts and those around her. She only realized she'd drawn her knees up towards herself when her ribs screamed against hugging them. All the same she couldn't help the movement. Her mind felt the oily residue of Wynne's defenses releasing.

"It was a result of her releasing her defenses, of her powers seeping out around her. It wasn't an attack, at least I don't think so. Not as I understand it," she replied, putting her sweaty forehead down on her knees in search of calm again. The connection had been too tenuous to feel anything personal, just the ailment of Wynne's strength, like a humid blast of sun burnt carrion.

Nearby Dredd refilled her tin and pressed a cool edge against one of her bare elbows. Shifting so her chin perched on her arm she sipped at the straw, focused absently on a smear of dirt on his Kevlar. He must have been sweltering. Whatever he felt he radiated his usual balance of control and anger.

"So we're waiting for word back from Marquerik? How long before 'Berg and Radkov return?"

"We'll stay here today and tomorrow, long enough for you to rest and for Radkov to acquire the tokens we need for Amanirenas."

Some of the anxiety of the last few days since receiving her orders was soothed. Pinwheeling through the air at high velocity and facing down Gici Awas and the Gitaskog aside she was right on track, halfway to her goal of finding a teacher. The last half would consist of convincing her to be a teacher. That was unsettling but she was at least in the right area and there were people with her who knew the terrain. Most important of all was Dredd's presence, familiar and in its strange fashion comforting. His classification of her may not extend all the way to friend but he was unconditionally her ally, her comrade. And that was something dear for a girl who had spent her days in the Academy almost totally ostracized by the student population.

Dredd handed her the mug as he went and pulled his chair over from the door and sat down within arm's length of the bed. She could have reached out and touched him – if the insane impulse had moved her. But the implication in his gesture was that she could sleep, he would watch the door. She sipped her water quietly over the next fifteen minutes and gingerly eased down so she could sleep.

The next time she was conscious she discovered Rosenberg had assumed the task of 'guarding' her, seated on the floor beside the bed with an assortment of diagrams flashing as he toggled between screens on his portable computer. His back was to her but he'd stripped out of the top of his coveralls, arms belted around his waist, his undershirt smudged in sweat and oil stains, fresh scuffs on his knuckles.

"What are you looking at?" she asked without moving. Rather than startled Rosenberg toggled to a particular screen and showed her the schematics of her bike.

"Mangled pretty good, but she's almost repaired," he said, turning to face her. "Olvrisson and Voll will be appalled, but she'll ride. I'm weapons." Rosenberg shrugged and Anderson smiled at him. "How do you feel?"

"Better," she assured him. "The nausea's gone away." Rosenberg twisted around and peered into her eyes. He wasn't particularly close but she could see red stubble on his chin and that while sun burnt he had absolutely no freckles, his skin ordinarily a perfect cream color.

"No concussion. That's good. I pulled Al's sensor off the back of your head to be certain it was alright after the crash. Seems in working order but I don't want you to put it back on until you're on your feet again."

"Yes doctor," she consented, absently seeking the shaved patch at the back of her head. It was crusted with dried goop and her hair was a mess, half fallen out of her braid and flakes of blood came away.

"I got what I could," Rosenberg said, almost apologetic. "We don't have a lot of water for bathing. Its expensive. But we paid for enough to scrub down. Just let me know. There's a stall outside for it but someone will have to sit with you. Soldiers in town and you diminished. Radkov would probably volunteer."

Anderson blinked at him and realized it was a joke. She picked it up in a faint smile, his brown eyes seeming a little less serious. She smiled back at him.

"Does he know I'm a mutie?" she whispered and Rosenberg's smile got wide enough to flash some beautifully white teeth.

"Drink up sir. I want you properly hydrated," he passed her the tin cup. He turned back around and resumed his work, the stylus tapping out decisions quietly. Anderson watched for a time.

"Any news?" she asked.

"Devon says the soldiers are rowdy, lots of drinking and women are fair game. So don't go anywhere on your own sir. Taharka I guess is staying with the mayor for a while. Sunakarib sent a messenger with a challenge this morning so its possible they'll be out of the city by tomorrow night. Judge Dredd took Radkov to see the shaman but they're not back yet."

"Where are Devon and Wynne?"

"Devon's helping the undertaker dig graves and Wynne hasn't been back yet. Devon thinks she's probably out to look at Amanirenas' territory."

"Why's he digging graves?" Anderson's eyebrows pinched. "Was it part of our being allowed to stay?"

"No sir. I think Devon's affected by the remorse in the town. Seems lots of theirs were caught in spillover. Taharka was 'recruiting'."

"Can I help somehow?"

"You can get well sir," Rosenberg looked back at her. "A lot of people want Psi-division to fail. When I first got this assignment I was one of them. But without you that Gitaskog would have eaten us all. That's something even a man like Judge Dredd couldn't do."

"Wynne had to come and save us," Anderson pointed out trying not to blush.

"Because you're still learning. I've never seen anything like that. And if what Dr. Hargrave speculated is right, if there are psychics we can't handle back in MC1, then it would be a real honor to work with someone like you and do things no other division can. So get well and let's deal with the Green Witch."

Anderson pulled the covers self consciously over her head. She thought Rosenberg might have chuckled.

"Can I have your mug sir? No sense you spilling it and wasting the water."

She pushed the mug out towards him, allowing her hand to emerge from the sheet. He took it and set it aside while she drifted back into unconsciousness.

The third time she came around she was feeling much improved. Sitting up she realized Rosenberg and Radkov were both pressed against either side of the door and in the light coming in beneath it she could make out the shine on Dredd's helmet. Silver moonlight slanted in from the narrow window at the top of the room, cut into the mud walls.

Dredd shifted in the dark and she realized he was telling her to be quiet. He reached next to him and gave her the gun belt, her Lawgiver still in its holster. He also tossed her a pair of pants. Still painful to move she worked stiffly and quietly to pull the pants on and belted her gun in place.

Relaxing her paltry protection she reached a finger of awareness out beyond the door and immediately found Devon. She felt the jolt of his recognizing her brush against his sharpened defenses before offering up the smallest breach so she might join him.

"I recognize a Lawmaster, Marquerik. We both of us spent time around Texas City," remarked a smooth voice as Anderson synced up with Devon's mind in order to see through his eyes.

She learned a number of things at once. This was Taharka himself sitting at the undertaker's welded table with a glass of water at his elbow. He was perhaps as tall as Dredd though built wider, his chestnut hair made of thick ringlets with sections in braids to keep it out of his face as it curled around his shoulders. His eyes were a shade of green akin to images of jungle flora in books, his features strong, a well kept beard trimmed close to his skin. Gold piercings curled around his ears, rings winked on two of his fingers and rather than armor he was dressed in unbleached fabric left open at the throat to show an expanse of impressive muscle and the edge of a scar that looked like it stretched over his heart.

Taharka was unarmed physically but Devon respected – almost feared – the considerable psychic abilities that had sundered men into unrecognizable pieces in droves. Devon had also served Taharka as a younger man, had even been friends. There was a falling out that Anderson didn't have the energy to pursue though she filed it under 'important questions for a later time'. She also learned the warlord was here because he wanted the Judges handed over to him, not because he was worried they were there for him but because he thought to use them as leverage.

"I don't deny a Lawmaster," Devon shook his head. "But taking a Judge hostage? That is foolish and I will have no part in it."

"Two Lawmasters. One is in bad need of repair but I have seen the Teks working it myself. They wouldn't fix it if there wasn't a second rider."

"Two Judges is a considerable force Taharka," Devon cautioned. "You have Sunakarib in the hills and your lands are rife with rebellion."

"A considerable force? Perhaps against norms. Or have you been so long around Roanoke that you forget my talents?"

"I do not forget."

Devon's mind was awash with images of carnage, fear, suffering, and sorrow. It was layered so intricately and swelled so suddenly Anderson couldn't help the sudden prick of tears in her eyes. She was glad it was dark and that she could blink them away rapidly without their being noticed.

"If you will not rescind the protection of the Madcaps then at least grant me an audience. I promise no harm to them."

Anderson could feel Devon's suspicion but there was a tug on her mind, the same sort of tug that alerted her to a familiar presence. Scraping together her strength she reached out in the direction of that tug.

"How often that proves false. Leave this place and I will give them the choice in daylight," Devon replied, most of her attention fading from him as she touched lightly on other minds in search of the source of familiarity. Was it Wynne?

_I need to breathe..._

She jerked back into the confines of her own mind and swung her legs over the bed, finding boots and tugging them on. Dredd stood up but she raised a hand.

"Gitaskog," she whispered. Radkov murmured a swear. She sent all her focus to the serpent, feeling anger and pain, and as it surfaced it smelled her. Hardly surprising as much blood was still caked in her hair. It bypassed the strange cow left staked out by the river and drew closer inland, seeking her as cries rose up in the town.

Anderson braced two hands on a nearby chair and plunged into the Gitaskog's mind, practically abandoning her own body. She settled into the synapses and sinew, feeling the aching damage from the gunfire, unable to break the scales but battering the bones and organs inside. There was the burn of infected flesh where Wynne had put hands on it.

_'Peace'_, she urged, reaching for the memories of their confrontation and pulling at them, dragging them deeper into its subconsciousness as she groped for something to replace its attention. The Gitaskog was confused, its mind seething, twisting like so many fish caught in a net. She snagged a fleeting thought, the cow it had just bypassed and pushed it to the forefront. In a heap of irritated coils the Gitaskog struggled to understand. It was agitated.

The memory of their confrontation fought its way back up to the surface and it resumed its hunt, shattering houses, sparks leaping from its scales as it scraped by the bent tin structures. Anderson foisted more memories over top and the Gitaskog came to a hissing standstill again, frustrated, confused as to its anger. It caught her scent and she snatched another memory, something to create at least a neutral sensation. It didn't seem to know fear, only anger, so she tied her smell to memories of sunbathing and slumber.

Its frustration grew and she worked harder to bind these thoughts together, mingling them, grafting them in some process she knew by feel but couldn't have explained. Inside she could vaguely make out the sounds of people hurrying outside, maybe her ears were picking up Gitaskog's hisses, and it was possible she had collapsed onto her hands and knees.

Knowing she was losing her hold and that people were coming out to attack she pushed herself up onto her feet and staggered.

"Keep her here," Dredd instructed, taking her shoulders to steer her towards the bed.

"No don't!" she grasped his arms. "The town will be_ destroyed,_ even if they eventually get it."

"Then what?"

"Get me to it. Let me just...let me do this!"

Dredd growled somewhere in his throat and swept her up. Someone pushed the door out of the way as they hustled outside, a blur of images as the Gitaskog thrashed, caught in the web of her mental machinations. It was confused, fear touching it for the first time in its life. Sporadic gunfire ricocheted off its scales and it snarled at the gathered faces and torchlight, not sure if it should attack.

"Hey!" Anderson shouted as she felt a mind gearing up for a psychic attack. She squirmed free of Dredd and grabbed a sleeve connected to the offending mind, jerking him off balance. Taharka's expression was shocked as she put a foot in the back of his knee, taking him down onto the ground.

_'Peace!'_ she urged as the Gitaskog drew up to attack. She left Taharka where he was stunned, Dredd somewhere close by, and went staggering for the great serpent. _'Easy, easy,'_ she pulled out soothing memories, reaching for it. Its tongue flickered irritably between its teeth. _'Come here, come down here,_' she urged, sending it the impulse. It hesitated before a great nose pressed against her palm and two giant eyes stared at her.

The contact seemed to solidify their connection. All at once she didn't have to fight it and the Gitaskog seemed to relax beneath her thoughts. She commiserated with its pain and urged it home, back to the one that fed it goats. Rest, sleep, regain its strength. She also took the time to rewire its mind with careful patience, urging it to leave the villagers alone and take only the offered stock as it had become accustomed. It was supposed to protect the villagers she insisted, keep them safe in exchange for the meat.

_'Go home,'_ she urged when finally it was subdued. The Gitaskog raised its head, the forest of horns on its head casting complex shadows on the ground. It stared at her a long moment as she withdrew from its thoughts. Then slowly it dipped its head once and turned away, slithering back towards the Green River.

Anderson swayed on her feet and wiped at the sweat along her upper lip. When her hand came back she realized it was blood. She knew when the gravel crunched beside her it was Dredd, there at her side the entire time. Turning too she was faced with Taharka.

"What are you?" he pointed at her.

"A Judge," she answered, drawing herself upright.

"I know that one is a Judge but what are you?"

"Judge Cassandra Anderson of Mega City One," she lifted her chin.

"Do you have business here with us?" Dredd inquired ominously. Taharka's eyes merely flicked to Dredd before fixing on Anderson again.

"And so the Judges now find themselves recruiting fellow mutants," he came a few steps forward. Dredd took a step forward too, bringing himself to the forefront of Taharka's attention. The warlord squared up with Dredd now. "I thought Judges were monastic. Things have changed since the war."

"Lets go Anderson," Dredd advised over his shoulder. Anderson came around his other side as Dredd stepped carefully to keep himself between she and Taharka. The pair of them pointedly put their backs to the warlord as they made their way back towards the undertaker's. Despite her utter exhaustion she kept her senses pricked and as a result could feel the build up of Taharka's powers at work, the iron shields in his mind dropped just enough to allow for offense. Her mental reach splashed against his defenses and as a result she just had time to set her heels and jerk Dredd out of the way. The blast of psychic energy tore up the ground and clipped Dredd's boot heel.

The Judge took it in stride and as he readjusted his balance his Lawgiver came up and the shot cut one of Taharka's braids loose. The slender rope of hair struck the ground with a soft thump. Anderson stood poised with her fingers hooked in Dredd's belt and her cheek against the Kevlar jacket while Dredd remained at the ready, sighting down his Lawgiver. Taharka smiled and raised his hands.

"Peace Judges, peace," he said, backing away slowly. "Perhaps we can parlay in the morning when tensions aren't so high?"

Dredd said nothing and Anderson waited, senses drawn tight.

"Taharka, my old friend," Wynne seemed to materialize out of nowhere. She sauntered through the crowd, her skin outlined in silver by the observant moon. Her fingers laced and she hooked them over his shoulder, smiling up at him. "Why don't you come away with me for an evening? Its so boring traveling with Judges. Mates for life it seems." Her mutant eye shifted towards them with a derisive laziness. "No interest in sharing."

"As compared to your practice of mate for a night?" Taharka brushed her from his shoulder dismissively. "Last I saw you, you were riding off with the spoils of my conquest all for yourself. I should shred you where you stand Wynne."

"It would break up the tedium," Wynne hooked her hands around the back of her neck, showing off her perfect physique. "Won't you buy a girl a drink first, Taharka?"

Taharka growled something like irritation before he swirled away and stalked into the crowd. Wynne shot Dredd a cat's smile before she followed. Anderson took a shaky step back from Dredd and the pair of them made their way back to the store room. Somehow she made it to a bed and was unconscious again before she had time to register everything that had happened.


	11. Negotiations

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Judge Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N:** You guys are awesome indulging a mad woman and even reviewing!

Chapter 11: Negotiations

Dredd kept his vigil through the night at Anderson's side. Whatever she had managed with the horned serpent had been incredible and unsettling. She'd been fearless, walking straight up to the jaws of death. Her approach had minimized destruction. The few shots fired had ricocheted off the metallic scales and three civilians were dead. If the whole town had opened up there was a good shot most of them would also have found themselves dead.

Taharka though, now there was a problem. He'd become aware of them before Dredd was confident in Anderson's capacity to dispatch him. After the close call with Taharka's test he was forced to admit that going unprepared against the warlord could spell out certain death. No sense in risking the whole mission before Anderson had a sturdy foothold in her workings. Taharka's curiosity however was piqued and Radkov had looked absolutely green. Devon was less than thrilled too.

"He sets his teeth into something and doesn't let go," the lion man sighed as dawn was beginning to filter in overhead. He handed Dredd a mug of water and a warm sandwich of some sort. Sitting down on a crate of something he glanced at Anderson.

"What's the relation between Elliot and Taharka?"

"Lust," Devon shrugged. "Taharka and Wynne were a pair for a while but nobody keeps Wynne for long. Its not in her nature."

"And so are you a pair?" Dredd prompted.

"Never was, never will," Devon shook his head. "Perk to feeling the emotions of everyone around you. You always know the score."

"What convinces you she's loyal then? How do I know she's not setting us up?"

"Because she thinks of you as her quarry now."

"Flattering," Dredd snorted.

"Its Anderson she wants to piss off," Devon leaned back as he took a bite of his sandwich. He chewed meditatively, his animal eyes fixed on a point somewhere over Anderson's bed. Dredd glanced at his sleeping comrade, the only visible thing one hand and the top of some tawny curls. "Mean streak in her, a sick need to break whatever happiness she finds. By her mark the best way to do that is to pull you two apart."

"And that...goal will keep her from handing us over to Taharka?"

"That and a score to settle with Sunakarib. He left her. Its complicated with Wynne if you're looking for back story. But she's pretty cut and dry since joining the Murugans. She'll follow the terms of her contract."

"You might want to consider collecting her then. We need to get moving, preferably before Taharka comes for a more thorough investigation of us," Dredd advised. Devon nodded and got back up, sauntering through the door. When he was gone Dredd leaned forward and hooked a corner of the sheet, pulling it back from Anderson's unusually pale face.

"Anderson," he shook her shoulder slightly. Her eyelashes fluttered open over dark bags of exhaustion, slightly glazed eyes seeking him. She pushed herself up, still dressed but for the boots he'd stripped off her the night before.

"Right, sorry," she flung the covers back and swung her feet onto the floor. She pushed her hands back through her hair and ground sleep out of her eyes. Looking unusually frail to him as she hunted for her uniform he put his back to her while she changed. When he did turn back to see her she was settling her Kevlar jacket in place. "Where's 'Berg?" she asked, squinting towards the window. There were still traces of blood on her face.

"By the hummer," he suggested, tearing the sandwich in half and offering her some. She nodded and shuffled past him, taking the sandwich in one hand and tugging the gun belt tighter as she went. Clenching her breakfast between her teeth she hooked two fingers under the visor of her helmet on a nearby chair. Anderson was so tired as she focused on wolfing the sandwich and walking that she didn't notice the bent little creature that had housed them. Dredd nodded his thanks instead as he bolted his breakfast on the way out. The man nodded in return, his dirt crusted fingers pressing over his heart as he bowed deeply.

"'Berg, can I have my chip?" Anderson called, flinching away from daylight.

"No," Rosenberg replied. She turned something that may have been intended as a glare his direction but just came up a crinkled nose and narrowed eyes against offending sunbeams. "You're not well. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow I won't phrase it as a question. And _you_ can explain the data gap to Al-Sayid," she grumbled and moved towards the Lawmaster. It had been stripped down in order to correct the bent frame and suspension, the computer systems removed since they had neither the means nor the know how in replacing it. A far more rudimentary AI worked the weaponry now, nothing more than the same sort that responded to commands in the Lawgiver. There were assorted replacement parts patching the bike like a calico cat, some of the metal much older than others. Anderson ran a glove over the bike thoughtfully.

Radkov held out the keys. His eyes were hooded, fear making his jaw tight. Anderson looked up and read all of that in his face and hers assumed one of resignation. She held out her hand and Radkov very carefully placed them in the hollow her palm created. He hesitated, searching for something to say, perhaps questing for his old animosity to reestablish their relationship.

"Try not to break it again mutie? We'll be out in the bush and I _really_ don't want to come back here while Taharka's in town." His voice was strained but the words themselves made Anderson smile.

"It was a beautiful speed roll though," she replied and Radkov rolled his eyes.

"She never gets the keys to the hummer," he informed Rosenberg who strolled right up to Anderson and pulled some of her hair out of the way before pressing the flat, pricked end of a shot against the back of her neck and injecting another dosage of stimulant to hurry the healing process.

"No sir, you do not," he agreed.

"Bullies," Anderson complained, stiffly climbing onto her bike and then rubbing the shot. "Don't even warn a girl."

It was a slow process and not exactly as Dredd would have conducted it but Anderson seemed to be winning the hearts and minds of her new unit. Both Teks clamored into the hummer just as Devon rolled up with Wynne on the back of his bike. She yawned and swung down.

"Ah, sleeping beauty," she nodded to Anderson who let the barb pass and simply nodded back. "Or perhaps you're the beast mistress. Shall we then? I know the way."

"Its eating the seat!" Radkov shouted from inside the hummer. There was the frantic sound of hooves clattering about and a bleat followed by a crash. "It ate my seat!"

"Fire blanket?" Rosenberg offered, muffled by the vehicle.

"Lets move this circus," Dredd sighed, turning his engine over as he sincerely hoped Anderson's education would benefit from this mad scheme laid down by their superiors. She'd already improved, of that he was certain, but it was dangerous business. The work of a Judge was dangerous of course but at the very least good was accomplished. Out here they were spitting into the wind and hoping to come back from countless possible deaths and none of it would make a damn bit of difference.

Anderson winced at the sound of the engine before she pulled on her scratched, dented helmet and followed the hummer out into the wilds. Wynne and Devon took the lead while Dredd and Anderson brought up the rear. Occasional racket came from inside the hummer, presumably Radkov dealing with the two headed goat they'd procured as one of the necessary tokens to enter Amanirenas' lands.

They didn't encounter much beyond a pack of something like wolves pulling apart a Gici Awa carcass. The creatures looked up and watched them pass but gave no pursuit. The ground was mostly unimpeded by anything except for the nearby Green until they reached a place where the ground was suddenly alive with...something. The convoy drew to a halt to stare at the bizarre flora.

"This was as far as I could get," Wynne leaned over her handlebars, perching her chin on one hand. "These plants are toxic. I saw a Cudo wolf die in a matter of minutes after brushing one of them. There's no path through that I could see and I went around the perimeter, all three miles."

The strange black plants were gathered around faintly green tinted pools and the earth was dark with moisture, the air humid. Dredd looked either direction and saw no break, no path through. Just an old stake with a rope where the goats appeared to be normally left.

Dismounting his bike Dredd extracted the large coins the village shaman had given he and Radkov to treat with Amanirenas. The altogether too long man had insisted they tie up the goat and drop the coins into the hole by the stake, that these coins would signify a desire to parlay. There was nothing else to be done after that but wait. Radkov flung a side door open on the hummer and emerged with the two headed goat bleating and squirming, slung over his shoulders.

"Is the Gitaskog nearby?" Dredd asked Anderson as she fell in beside him, following after Radkov. The Tek put the goat down and grabbed one collar as the other head butted his shoulder rather forcibly. He swore and knotted the rope in place before backing away. The goat jumped and thrashed, raising a ruckus.

Anderson pulled off her helmet and seemed to reach out. She gave him a nod.

"Does it have any insight into getting past the grasses?"

Anderson went back to her searching, standing perfectly still with her eyes moving beneath their lids. Dredd looked back at the man sized grasses, rustling in a faint breeze. Beyond them he could see what looked like...trees. The tops of emerald leaves shivering in the same breeze were an alluring sight he'd only ever seen in passing, through the glass of a green house or on garden rooftops of neighboring buildings he noted as peripheral details during a shift.

"There's a clear entrance only accessibly via the river," Anderson informed him as she made for the bank. Dredd followed. "I don't know if I can convince it to take me and there's a chance it could just drag us into the river," she warned him. Dredd made no answer as they came to the bank and Anderson looked out over the sparkling green surface.

In a few moments Dredd saw a smooth, silver head rise from the water and two yellow green eyes blink at them curiously. As it rose further upright the scales on its head bristled like fur and approximated the horns they'd seen. These scales smoothed after another fraction of a second and the jagged toothed serpent came carefully closer. Its long neck arched until its nose met the palm Anderson offered. She pointed back over her shoulder and the serpent moved slowly past them towards the bleating two headed goat.

Anderson and Dredd followed it and the psychic cut ahead when the Gitaskog's head scales bristled against the alarmed members of their team. She put herself between them as Dredd made for the others.

"We're going in. You four should consider moving around to a different location in the event that Taharka pursues us."

"Sunakarib sent an assassin in to rustle up some action. Taharka rolled out this morning to confront him," Wynne replied.

"If we're not back by the evening your job is to make it back to Mega City One," Dredd addressed Radkov. The Tek was staring at the Gitaskog snapping the rope with a tug and swallowing the troublesome two headed goat and Anderson watching it patiently.

"Sir," Rosenberg saluted. "See you this evening." Radkov's eyes flicked to Dredd and he went through the motions of a distracted salute. Dredd nodded to them both and made for the serpent currently laying its head on the ground. Anderson pulled her helmet on and moved to climb on. She slipped a little and released the scale as the Gitaskog rumbled at her, one eye half open watching. Dredd climbed on first and held a hand back to her. She took it and he pulled her easily up after him. There was plenty of space for them to sit side by side on the rock solid scales of a skull almost eight feet across.

The Gitaskog carefully lifted its head and moved back towards the water. Dredd almost felt his stomach drop out as it slid seamlessly into the water, a good sixty feet of serpent slithering along the acidic surface of a river of death. Anderson remained perfectly cool next to him, her broken arm loosely held by the other, hunched forward over her broken ribs.

"What exactly did you do to this thing?" Dredd asked, not totally sure he wanted to know.

"I associated our smell – mine in particular – with something pleasant."

"So you rewrote its memories."

"Yes."

"Who taught you that?"

"It was a desperate attempt to save our skins last night. I don't think I could explain exactly how it worked sir."

Back to "sir". She was nervous. But was it because she feared his poor opinion or because she was guilty of something? That was the question that nagged at him.

On the surface she seemed honest and he knew she was just, but it plagued him that she had not only the ability to read his thoughts but to manipulate them too. It was so dangerous a thing and yet Goodman was risking everything on it. Dredd had worked with Goodman long enough to know the woman wasn't a fool but all the same this was a gamble. Anderson was powerful. It was only her free choice to serve the Hall of Justice that truly bound her. Dredd put precious little faith in the average person's dedication. So then the question became how much faith did he put in Anderson?

"Sir, I mean to maximize my powers, push them as far as they will go." She was staring directly ahead as the Gitaskog moved upstream. Along the shore their companions disappeared. "I can't help what I am, but I will absolutely capitalize on my powers for the benefit of MC1. I'm a Judge before anything else."

"I know," he said and realized he meant it. He thought about the prickle of suspicion that initially appeared at his ready acceptance and then reminded himself who Anderson was. For now he would go on faith. With her helmet on Dredd couldn't tell exactly what her expression was but she kept staring dead ahead.

The black grasses gave way to paradise suddenly. Dredd heard Anderson's intake of breath but kept silent himself somehow. Trees filled with fruit and flowers were scattered up in the background while bouquets of flowers overflowed everywhere, splashes of pink, white, saffron, purple, blues more magnificent than the sky, and reds so vividly sinful they almost hurt to look at. The Gitaskog came up a rise in the earth that separated the river from paradise and then settled into a crystal blue pool the likes of which Dredd had never seen. It perched its head on a wooden dock and the pair of Judges disembarked.

Anderson's helmet came off and fell onto the wood with a stupefied thock. The smell of the flowers was glorious, delicate and aromatic. Anderson was smiling, her eyes shimmering as she looked around them.

"Don't lose focus," Dredd advised, hard pressed not to gawk. He tossed the coins implying the desire to parlay onto the dock and 4refsgpointed ahead at a woman in a vibrant red skirt hanging in folds around her and a pale white blouse falling over her shoulders. Slender and tall, her skin was an earthy blue black, features sharp, patches of dark green scales standing out. With her hair braided into neat, tight rows and rolling thick down to the small of her back she had silver bangles hanging on her wrists and silver coins strung around her neck. In one hand was a bouquet of flowers in assorted shades.

"What business here?" she asked around fangs, her eyes a dazzling yellow gold with vertical pupils. "Has not my Gitaskog suffered enough?"

"My name is Cassandra Anderson," Anderson stepped forward a pace and lowered her head in something of a bow. "I'm a Judge in Mega City One."

"I know the uniform. Even should your jurisdiction extend this far I have broken no laws. _You_ however are trespassing."

"I have come to ask you to teach me."

Amanerinas blinked a few times. She turned away after that and made for a house built of mud and moss. Anderson must have projected some thought because the woman swirled around and a hunk of earth leaped up from the ground and flew at them. Dredd blasted it clean out of the sky without batting a lash.

The Green Witch looked between both of them, her pupils narrowed to slits. She came forward, marched onto the dock, and snatched Anderson's chin in a vice grip. Dredd moved the Lawgiver to point between her eyes but the mutant didn't even look at him. The two women stared at each other a long time before Amanirenas' lips curled.

It was the Gitaskog that rose up and rumbled ominously, scales on its head puffing like the feathers of an irritated bird. Amanirenas slowly let go of Anderson, eyes never leaving the younger psychic.

"Why did you opt to change Gitaskog rather than kill him?" she demanded.

"Truthfully because I didn't know how to kill him," Anderson replied. Amanirenas let a pearly white smile slash across her face as she shook her head.

"I would have slain cities with the raw power you possess, not allowed norms to poke and prod and enslave me." She took Anderson's chin again and turned her head so she could make out the raw patch of skin where Al-Sayid's device had been sitting. "Why? Why should I teach you? My power is not like yours but there is much you could learn. Why?"

"Because you don't like Taharka and Sunakarib around. And I could remove them for you with the right training."

Amanirenas considered this, head cocked like a bird's. She shifted her bouquet into the other arm and put the now free hand down on the Gitaskog's very close nose. All at once something slimy hooked around Dredd's boots and wrists. They jerked his feet out from him, Anderson beside him thudding onto the docks a split second later, and they were both dragged back towards the water. Dredd caught a plank and jerked to a halt despite the pressure on his shoulders. Anderson disappeared beneath the dock and struck the water with an enormous splash. Dredd struggled to get his Lawmaster aimed, a timer running for how long Anderson might be able to hold her breath.

"You fools think I should just trust you? I did not make this place because others were kind to me," Amanirenas shouted. Dredd felt a stone pelt between his shoulders, followed by another and a third.

"Ricochet," he gasped, and felt the Lawgiver click over. He pulled the trigger and the bullet pinged off the now agitated Gitaskog's scales. It clipped Amanirenas' side but he barely felt any give in what he realized was vegetation. Hargrave had called her telekinetic so she must have been manipulating the leafy tendrils. Another stone came down near his gun hand. Dredd barely avoided having it crushed. He squeezed off another couple of shots, one most certainly landing in Amanirenas' upper arm. With a snarl the tendrils released but he was suddenly hoisted off the ground and dangled upside down.

"I have had to fight every step of the way. Do not think you can come here with false promises or threats, Judges," Amanirenas snarled at him and dragged him back down towards the ground from almost twenty feet head first.

The Gitaskog lunged forward and Dredd was suddenly inside an enormous mouth, pressed against the roof between two fangs almost as long as he was tall. There was some thumping outside and shouts, he was jostled about, and the Gitaskog's maw opened up so he might climb out.

"I am asking for your help," Anderson panted, waterlogged and bedraggled, a knife in her hand and vines tangled across her uniform. Dredd struggled out of the Gitaskog's mouth, the beast coiled around them protectively. Amanirenas was picking herself up out of some foliage from where she'd been plunged. "Yes, I need your help to train but I _will_ remove Taharka and Sunakarib in exchange. They've brought the area enough sorrow in addition to their previous assault on Mega City One soldiers during the war with Texas city."

"You're fools, all of you city kind," Amanirenas snarled, picking herself up. She gripped her wounded arm and the water behind them seemed to boil. The Gitaskog snarled and turned to face the water. Dredd only caught the incoming projectile in the corner of his eye. He snapped out a hand and yanked Anderson out of the way as a boulder almost four feet across crashed into the dock where she'd been standing. They were both thrown up into the air as the Gitaskog's weight pulled the rest of the little structure down.

"Stun!" Dredd barked and fired as he twisted through the air. Amanirenas fell to the ground convulsing as he and Anderson both hit the water. Struggling up in their bulky street gear they made for the shore and dragged themselves up the muddy edge. Anderson pulled out her Lawgiver, coughing water back up but the psychic was down.

"Negotiations could have gone better," Anderson said around a gasp. "I'd like to try again when she wakes up."

"Look for leverage," Dredd suggested. Anderson staggered towards the unconscious woman and collapsed on her knees. She shut her eyes, breathing hard, but the rest of her seemed to quiet as her mind left its body behind. Dredd waited standing just behind his counterpart with the muzzle of his weapon trained on Amanirenas.

Slowly Anderson looked up and her hand strayed to the field kit on her belt. She pulled out a small set of tweezers and rolled the unconscious psychic onto her side. Her jaw seemed set in a hard line, eyes dark with thought.

"Do you know how people get married out here?" she asked, extracting the bullet. She applied a healing gel and then stapled the wound shut as Dredd waited for her to elaborate. "They purchase brides. Sunakarib bought her, and when he was through he...cast her aside. She had no status. People were horrible..." Anderson seemed to struggle to get a handle on her reaction. "They were horrible." She twisted and just sat down next to their former assailant. "Our leverage is specifically Sunakarib. She has to believe we'll really kill him."

"Will we?" Dredd prompted. Anderson smirked darkly, pushing wet hair out of her face.

"He's guilty of at least fifteen murders she witnessed in the four days he took using her. Execution is his only sentence."

"Then we'll assure her of that." Dredd moved and sat on a stump as the Gitaskog stared at them from his pond. "Was it you that made the Gitaskog catch me?"

"Crude, but I couldn't get through her defenses and she wasn't expecting me to use her own pet," Anderson nodded. "He's a little bewildered but I promised we wouldn't really hurt her."

"We'll see."

It was maybe fifteen minutes before Amanirenas groaned. Her eyes opened to Anderson, still damp but no longer dripping. The blond psychic was watching the water where the Gitaskog watched them apprehensively in turn. Amanirenas' eyes flicked towards Dredd, his Lawgiver still on her.

"Crude," Amanirenas remarked. "But powerful. Most of you telepathic types can only eavesdrop, and then usually in concept or image."

"I got lucky," Anderson shrugged. Amanirenas fingered the bandage on her arm, yellow eyes vacant. "I meant it, about going after Sunakarib. He's guilty and I'm a Judge."

"What does the city care out here?" she asked bitterly.

"Usually they don't," Anderson agreed, her voice edged in weariness. "But I was sent into the Cursed Earth for training. I don't stop being a Judge when I cross the Boundary Wall. I _will_ execute him for his crimes so long as there's a breath in me Beatrice. It'd make it a whole lot easier to keep breathing though if you helped me out."

"You were poking around were you?" Amanirenas sighed. She slowly pushed herself upright and then folded her legs, arranging her skirts just so. They sat side by side for a long time, both of them looking out over the water and towards the horizon. "How many?"

"How many what?"

"How many in your party?"

"Four. Two psychics and two norms."

"Why did you select me?"

"Dr. Hargrave recommended you."

Amanirenas smirked as she looked over at Anderson, her yellow eyes running up and down the water weeds tangled on the armor. Reaching out she pulled one strand from where it tangled in whatever was left of Anderson's braid.

"That man came here for two weeks straight and brought a goat every day imploring me for an audience. I should have known conceding would one day bring me trouble."

After a few more seconds she made a gesture. The earth seemed to rumble in the direction of their companions.

"You man, bring your friends in then. In exchange for the removal of Taharka and Sunakarib I will teach what can be taught. Girl there is a bucket. Fill the tub around back and we will clean you before you enter my house. You are rancid with old blood and sweat and water plants."

Anderson and Dredd looked at each other. Slowly he holstered his Lawgiver as she shrugged. Both of them got to their feet. Anderson made her way to the water and collected a wooden bucket. Dredd watched her fill it, ensuring that Amanirenas wouldn't try anything foolish. Anderson winced at the weight as she lifted it with both hands. Her broken bones must have been protesting.

"No harm here man. My walls are down and she is in my thoughts," Amanirenas assured him. Anderson seconded that with a nod.

It was a twenty minute trek through her botanic wilderness before he came out at the walkway opened in the black grass. Devon and Wynne didn't seem nervous but both Teks looked uneasy, Rosenberg in the tap of a stylus against the steering wheel with Radkov calmly holding an assault rifle. The Teks emerged from the hummer as Dredd approached, walking through the twelve foot channel Amanirenas had opened and coming to stand with them.

"Radkov take Anderson's bike. We make camp with the Green Witch."


	12. Groundwork

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Judge Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N: **This one's a birthday gift. :D

Chapter 12: Groundwork

The following days became a pattern that left Dredd restless. He spent huge swaths of time observing Anderson's training out of mingled curiosity and protective instinct. She was usually up before dawn, stripped down into athletic shorts and an undershirt as Amanirenas practically spent two hours assaulting her with various telekinetic attacks that flung dirt at her or dragged her into the crystal cool lake, plants tangling around her until Anderson could hardly stand. These morning abuse sessions left her covered in black and blue bruises, raw abrasions, and re-injured her arm but Anderson had kept anyone from coming between their work.

After the usual round of abuse Anderson was then tasked with what Dredd understood to be the attempt to break down Amanirenas' mental defenses. All he saw were one sided commands from the witch as she scrubbed her laundry or picked fruits, Anderson left to bake on a stump beneath full sunlight. After the first day her skin radiated heat and her sunburns were bad enough they nearly glowed purple. Dredd couldn't help but to consider incapacitating the mutant teacher in retribution.

Then usually it was time for lunch, a paltry serving of a broth for Anderson, and before there was time for rest Anderson was back on the move again working an obstacle course constructed in the flick of Amanirenas' wrist that would have made the Academy envious. After she'd completed the course Anderson would resume her stump and Devon was incorporated into the training. She would have to defend against his Empathic abilities. It was three days before Anderson wasn't thrown into fits of hysterical laughter, sobbing outright, snarling with rage, or made so pale with fear that even her sunburns seemed to lose their luster.

She was assigned chores including dinner preparation, only allowed to sip her small serving of broth before serving the rest of the house and then she spent her evenings on the dock buried in the mind of the Gitaskog. For her the Gitaskog would dance and curl, make patterns in the water, roll over and let her scratch the creature's belly scales, or it would very delicately pluck fruit from the topmost branches of the trees with its long tongue and deposit them in a barrel. By the time eleven rolled around and Anderson was allowed to sleep she would frequently just lay back on the dock and shut her eyes, feet dangling in the water.

By day five Devon was expected to ambush the young Judge with fit attacks of strong emotion. The first one caught her by surprise and she ate a clod of dirt to the face, blood spurting from her nose before vines dragged her back to the water. Still laughing so hard she could barely breath despite the blood pouring down her face Anderson clawed for purchase. Dredd was on his feet when all at once she stopped laughing and Devon took a grimacing step back. Amanirenas didn't flinch but the branch released her long enough for the battered Judge to get to her feet and move away from the water's edge.

In the mean time Radkov and Rosenberg worked feverishly on the EMP mines Anderson had requested. Rosenberg reprogrammed their Lawgivers to include what the voice command would recognize as a "bolt" shot.

Wynne generally lounged close by, deriving inordinate pleasure from Anderson's training. She was not asked to participate and expressly forbidden from using her powers here in Amanirenas' realm. So Wynne napped through some of the more dull moments, often at Dredd's feet like a cat. He pointedly ignored her or would leave while she was sleeping, moving to a new vantage point. He was in dire need of something to keep him occupied.

On day six while Anderson was in the middle of trying to break through Amanirenas' defenses Dredd approached the witch. For all this suffering he had seen Anderson's progress and believed the witch meant to keep her word.

"Can you grant me passage?" he asked the witch. She was seated in the middle of tall grass and purple flowers she identified as irises, their frilly, sometimes fuzzy petals brilliant.

"Yes," she agreed. "To what end?"

"Planning purposes for our end of the bargain," he replied. The ground simply rumbled and Dredd knew the poison black grasses had been moved out of the way. Her eyes flicked to Anderson and Dredd saw the barest smile on his companion's face.

"Don't be so arrogant," Anderson cautioned. She was suddenly flung onto the ground as the ground beneath her stump bucked her free.

"She makes progress but there is training yet," Amanirenas cautioned. "Do not act rashly or she will be only pulverized bones and ground meat in puddles against Taharka or ash and teeth against Sunakarib." Dredd only nodded rather than replying that was exactly why he wanted to take a look at what they might be up against.

Radkov was still in the back of the hummer carefully working at the station he and Rosenberg had created. Rosenberg was sitting outside for a bit of fresh air while Radkov carefully built another mine.

"Radkov, we're going out."

"Leavin' the mutie?" he raised his eyebrows without looking away from his delicate work. Dredd nodded once. There was silence until Radkov leaned back and set aside his tools. He rubbed his eyes and blinked, looking at Dredd. Standing stiffly he climbed out of the hummer.

"Elliot," Dredd called. She emerged from a showering veil of pink flowers growing from a small tree. "You're coming with us."

"How exciting. You could leave the norm," she suggested, coming closer than Dredd liked.

"Suit up Radkov. Take Anderson's bike. We leave in five."

He returned to the peeling, burnt creature that was Anderson on her stump, eyes fixed on her brutal teacher who seemed unperturbed. He studied the creased lines in Anderson's face, the pleat of skin between her eyebrows, the faintest wrinkles around her squinted eyes, and resolved he would return with something for the sunburns. Amanirenas took the stance that Anderson needed to bypass physical pain so her mind could remain focused.

"We're going," Dredd informed Anderson personally, his uniform creaking slightly as he squatted next to her. She gave the barest of nods before cringing.

"Don't pick any fights," her eyes flicked to him and away. Her lower lip was at the mercy of her teeth again as she apparently launched a mental attack with some aggression. Dredd wondered what the silent battle must have looked like, or if it was one solely of feeling.

"You've tried that already!" Amanirenas chided and Anderson shuddered.

"She's such a strong force," she pushed hair out of her face irritably. "Its like I'm metal and there's a magnet behind me, pulling me away."

"Flip the magnet around," Dredd suggested. Anderson blinked at him. A smile curled over her face slowly.

"I will write your report for you when we get back you brilliant, wonderful man!"

"Deal," Dredd didn't argue. "Don't get yourself killed."

"Oh I think not," her eyes narrowed and Amanirenas shifted uncomfortably to one side. "No, I think not. Knock it off!" she grabbed a rock and hurled it into some other foliage where there was an 'oof!' from Devon as it struck home. "I'm making progress."

"I'm taking Radkov and Elliot with me. We'll be back in two, maybe three days."

"I'll watch for you," she tapped the side of her head, flinched, and then leaned forward intently on her stump. Dredd had never seen her so animated. For the built up fatigue and abuse of the last few days – she'd lost weight already – her eyes were bright and there was an unfamiliar flush of life in her. He wondered if it was just that she didn't have the energy for her usual propriety or if she was enjoying the loosening of her strict mental control. It must have been a release to just be rather than constantly refrain form using what to her was a natural sense.

He got to his feet and moved back towards his small scouting group. Wynne was peeling a fruit, keeping the rind all in one strip with careful movements of her fingers, long legs on display. Radkov was back in the hummer pointing out something on one of the palm sized computers to Rosenberg. The two Teks nodded in unison and leaned back.

"Eyes open," Radkov advised. Rosenberg nodded once as Radkov pulled out a clip from his boot and handed it to him.

"What if Taharka or Sunakarib are in a bad mood?"

"Who says Taharka won't show up here?" Radkov shrugged and Dredd saw the first smile on Rosenberg's face as the red head chuckled darkly.

"A few more days and Judge Anderson should know how to crack him."

"If we come out of this alive..." Radkov trailed off, hands on his hips. He shook his head, sooty roman curls ruffled by a breeze.

"Watch out Radkov. You might say something nice about her," Rosenberg threatened, his smile getting bigger. Radkov snorted and hopped out of the hummer.

"The brighter they burn," Wynne sighed, separating the now unpeeled fruit into sections. Dredd thought it was just called an orange, after what he had presumed to be an extinct fruit. Both Dredd and Radkov turned over the engines on their Lawmasters. Wynne did likewise, one hand careful not to crush the fruit sections in her palm.

They eased through the narrow paths, reverently careful of the magnificent plant life. The black grasses marked the border between life and death, and then they were out again in the parched, brutally lit Cursed Earth. Dredd resisted the impulse to look back as the black grasses rumbled back into place, pushed by Amanirenas' will alone.

Only Wynne seemed unaffected as she chewed on sections of orange, savoring each one. She seemed perfectly content to dart ahead on her bike, pleased with the sun and wind, the arid feel of their suddenly lifeless surroundings. Her black hair lashed behind her, bronze skin alight.

They gave Salem a wide berth and continued into the night angling for a bridge to get across the Green and head north to the foothills where Taharka and Sunakarib were currently entrenched in their battles. Lucky for them the moon was up and cast a bright sheen over the ground though their pace slowed considerably. Again unperturbed Wynne surged ahead, shutting off her headlight as if it obstructed her night vision. She called a brief halt just long enough for her to motor ahead over a ridge. In the ensuing moment there were yips of dismay, one frightened bellow, and the dark, lumbering shapes of Gici Awas retreated, backlight in silver moonlight. Wynne claimed the ridge, nothing but a dark silhouette herself, and waved them after her.

Dawn saw them over a bridge built over the acidic Green river. It stood defiantly, built on outcroppings Dredd didn't entirely trust rising out of the swift currents. The legs were stone, blackened with some sort of chemical compound that resisted and neutralized the spatter of acidic water. Aged wooden planks sat over top the stones paving the way across.

"Don't touch the black residue," Radkov instructed as they cued up to cross the aged planks. Iron handrails had been eaten away over the years by rust and probably the green itself. "Its a base strong enough to counter the Green's acidic levels."

"Part of the tar crew huh?" Wynne asked.

"Botched a crossing once," Radkov shook his head.

"You look none the worse for the wear."

"The bridge got its pound of flesh," the Tek growled before moving ahead.

On the north side of the banks now and east of Salem. They continued angling north as they made for the hills and came upon the northern edge of the acidic swamp between Salem and Roanoke. It seemed extra repulsive after the exotic flowers and crystal pond where the Gitaskog lurked more like a giant pet dog than a monster serpent. They were about to clear it when Dredd realized there were people moving along the skeletal bridges over the acidic pools. Like ants they progressed in orderly lines, men with packs on their backs, women with babies swaddled tightly lest the plummet to a grisly end. And as they came on the northern most edge of the swamp they saw the long line of pilgrims and others herding goats along.

"Sorcha!" Radkov called ahead, gunning faster to reach a man beneath a wide brimmed hat. He had a heavy mustache and mutton chops, dark eyes and hair, and was dressed poorly. Dredd recognized him as one of the men Radkov had spoken to on friendly terms during their trip to collect the tokens from the local shaman. If he recalled it Radkov and Sorcha were childhood friends. "What's going on?"

"We're going to pray to Amanirenas. We had to go to Roanoke to purchase more goats. Roanoke got hid hard by Sunakarib in a supply raid too so many of them have come along for pilgrimage. They say from this side of the Green the wind carries your prayers," Sorcha replied, his voice rough with thirst. Radkov pulled out his water canteen and offered it. The goatherd threw back a drink as two little girls clung nervously to his legs. He gave them each a mouthful and handed the canteen back to Radkov. "Both Sunakarib and Taharka are waging war out in the hills where cover is better but we've no way to prevent the victor from returning for whatever can be counted as spoils. We can only hope the Gitaskog and his mistress will show us favor and drive them off. The woman you came with, the one that can commune with the Gitaskog, will you ask her to help?"

"She's working on it," Radkov nodded. "Say your prayers but don't distract her Sorcha. Please."

"When will she come?" Sorcha asked hopefully.

"As soon as she can," Radkov promised.

"How do we pray to her? What tokens?" Sorcha gripped Radkov's arm. "Please, I lost my son in conscription. All his best friend could get back were his teeth once Sunakarib was done with him. Please tell me how to pray to her?"

"She's not a god, she's a Judge. Whether or not you pray to her she'll find Sunakarib and pass judgment."

"Can she? Can a mortal woman do that?"

"You saw her tame the Gitaskog old friend. You tell me," Radkov answered with a jaded smile.

"How many sound bodies are left in Salem?" Dredd asked. Sorcha looked at him and removed his hat, bowing.

"Maybe thirty, mostly women though Judge."

"Say your prayers and find some way to rally the ones that are trustworthy. When we return to Salem we'll need bodies that can dig holes."

"Yes Judge," Sorcha nodded.

"Let's take a look at the hills Radkov."

"Be careful out here Sorcha," Radkov urged, pulling out some of his provisions and an extra water canteen.

"You need them!" Sorcha objected.

"For your girls," Radkov shook his head. Sorcha wanted to protest but he looked down at the little faces hiding behind him, one girl with fresh burns that would leave her face deformed.

"Kiss your uncle and tell him thank you," Sorcha advised and they fluttered forward, delicate as scraps of paper in the wind. Their little hands reached for him, bony and fine. Radkov bent and embraced both of them, stroking their matted hair. Each kissed his cheek.

"Thank you Uncle Fritz," said the taller of the two.

"Go get 'em Uncle Fritz!" the smaller, the burned one chirped in a reedy voice set for battle. Her tiny face was ferocious as she pulled back. "I will pray for you and Amanirenas will hear! Go and get them Uncle Fritz! For Tulsa!"

"For Tulsa," Radkov nodded. The little girl yanked a leather cord off he neck and held it out. Radkov took it and Dredd saw the charm was a tooth. Radkov tied it around his neck and the little girl nodded. She put her hand in her father's and Sorcha led his flock of goats and two little girls on. Radkov merely put his helmet back on and spurred along the road.

"She'll be a Murugan one day," Wynne remarked, turning to watch the little girl go.

"We've got places to go," Dredd reminded her, following Radkov.

They angled away from the town of Salem following Radkov's lead. It was coming up on dusk when they came across a battlefield. Dredd could smell it before he could see it, pulling over the rise and then observing the tortured ground strewn with mangled dead in pieces and scorch marks. Shells littered the ground like a blanket of embers, glowing in the sinking sun.

It'd been twenty years on the job as a full Judge and he'd never seen anything quite like this before. He sat back and studied piles of soot, white teeth the only bit of bone left. Bodies that looked like they'd gone through a wood chipper were spattered in streaming lines, the ground savaged where perhaps they'd been standing when Taharka's attack met. Others were hacked to pieces or bludgeoned into unrecognizable masses by an assortment of weaponry, and of course the usual riddling of gunfire. Here and there were bodies half affected by a psychic attack, perhaps some work by other psychics by the way some men were blue with asphyxiation or covered in boil marks.

Radkov beside him was ashen and grim. He reached up absently to touch the tooth on its leather throng. Wynne was unaffected, studying it without remorse or repulsion. Her eyes were all appraisal.

"You're in this aren't you?" Dredd asked her. She titled her head as she looked at him.

"As in willing to kill these warlords? Why yes. I'm owed and I'll collect," she nodded. "If you want to buy your girl time, you have to keep the balance between both sides." Wynne leaned over the handlebars in her usual custom, eyes ranging over the dead. Cudo wolves with patchy fur and gray skin were nosing through the dead, arguing with vultures over choice bits. Distantly Dredd could hear the unforgettable howl of a Gici Awa.

"Meaning?" Dredd prompted.

"I can't work for Sunakarib, but you could throw in. The victor is always decided by the lieutenants. And if the lieutenants are working for their own side? Well now," she shrugged. Dredd looked over at Radkov. The Tek had his chin up defiantly. He tucked the tooth necklace into his coveralls.

"Why not throw in with Taharka then to eradicate Sunakarib?"

"Taharka would be more willing to buy the overprotective mate than you joining his side and _I_ can't work for Sunakarib. I'm an excellent liar but there are some lies even I can't tell." The white pupil in her oversized black eye seemed to contract to a speck, almost vanishing entirely.

"Psi-Division is in its formative stages. MC1 could be interested in a man like Taharka," Dredd replied. "If we're going to buy time I'd rather crush one." Wynne pursed her lips as she pushed her hat back, her Madcap pin flashing in the sunlight.

"He might buy that," she conceded at length.

"Radkov, I need you to double back and bring your explosives. Lay a trap outside Salem, safe outside the town's vicinity, something we'll run into on the way back. You and Rosenberg organize the town to help bury the mines. See if Amanirenas and Devon can shift Anderson's training to the town itself and if Amanirenas herself will join the fight."

"Should I see if they'll consent to stop beating her senseless?"

"Preferably. Anderson needs to regain her strength. How many days Elliot?"

"Depends on Sunakarib's lieutenants," she shrugged.

"Can Anderson's bike still pick up a distress call?" Dredd asked Radkov. The Tek shook his head.

"We'll do it the old fashioned way, with camouflage and radios. We're experts at that out here," Radkov assured him.

"Do it," Dredd nodded. Radkov saluted and turned his bike around. With a throaty roar the resurrected Lawmaster took off back the way they'd come.

"How do we keep out of the way of your explosives?" Wynne inquired.

"Bring up the rear," Dredd shrugged. "You should probably find something to hunt Madcap. EMP mines are rough on your kind I hear."

"Never heard of it," Wynne cocked her head. "But I'll take your word Judge. Gici Awas soon," she cautioned, easing down the rise. Dredd followed her, threading through the battlefield.

They made it the rest of the way to rock strewn hills as darkness fell. Wynne paused just long enough to survey the camp, studying a standard in the moonlight. She shook her head and they cut around this camp, apparently Sunakarib's.

In another hour or so they could see the campfires of a second camp. Wynne flipped her headlights on – she didn't seem to need them really – to give warning of her approach and stopped on a rise. Flicking the headlights on an off she seemed to signal. They only had to wait a moment before there was an answer. Wynne made a reply and then proceeded slowly forward. Dredd was familiar with Morse code and the signals seemed to be a derivative but he couldn't be sure what exactly had been said.

Sentries came to meet them, one with a pronounced under bite and a withered arm, the other half the size of an average man with a club foot. They hissed at Wynne in a different language and she purred an answer. At that point she got of her bike and Dredd followed suit.

"We're being granted an audience," Wynne informed him, popping the short mutant's hand as he seemed to be going for her gun by working his way up her thigh. She said something with a smile but the mutant immediately took two hobbling steps back. His counterpart gibbered a command and they moved forward.

They passed into an array of tents where men crouched around fires like goblins, most of them mutants but a fair number able to pass as norms. Dredd studied them impassively behind his helmet, noticing the hunger and suspicion in their eyes. Unlike the people of Roanoke and Salem who scraped by as close to honest as one could expect in abject poverty, these men were feral. They took and killed as they needed or wanted.

Wynne was unfazed as she strolled by, seeming to appreciate the lustful looks thrown her way. She certainly earned them in her suggestive clothing – or lack thereof. It said something of her prowess that no one stepped forward to hassle her.

Taharka was sitting on a stool outside his tent like a commander straight out of history, a cloak of furs thrown over his shoulder to ward against the night cold that never bothered Wynne. He studied them both in their approach, his eyes appraising rather than lustful as they passed over Wynne, and cutting when they reached him. The sentry with the withered arm twittered to him in excitement but Taharka simply lifted a hand.

"Wynne has always made sense to me but you have principles. I'm having a hard time believing you're here for any reason that will benefit me," Taharka remarked. Wynne smiled as she reached her hands out to the fire, almost more like she wanted to see why everyone else seemed to do it than that she needed the heat.

"Its so good to have someone understand," she remarked. Taharka didn't care as his gaze remained steadily on Dredd.

"Our orders are to look for recruits for a new Psi-Division in MC1. Anderson seems to think you're qualified."

"And why has she not come?" Taharka asked.

"She's petitioning the Green Witch," he shrugged. It wasn't exactly untrue. Taharka's eyes narrowed, his arms folding across his chest.

"What happened to Devon?"

"He loves creamy pale skin," Wynne remarked, squatting so she could poke the fire with a stick.

"Marquerik has earned his pay," Dredd replied without answering the question. It was none of Taharka's business and he felt that if he answered it might seem contrived. Dredd was used to asking questions rather than answering them. "As a show of good will we'll help with Sunakarib, whether you agree to join Psi-Division or not."

"How generous," Taharka's eyes narrowed. Dredd offered no further explanation. Wynne started whistling as she pushed the logs in the fire around with rather childish curiosity. "You don't strike me as a psychic Judge. What business have you in Psi-Division?"

"Anderson," Dredd replied simply, leaving it to Taharka to assume. People made up their own stories far better than he could. If everyone assumed he was an overprotective mate, well then that's what he would be. A convenient cover. Taharka seemed to accept this as Wynne had speculated he would earlier that evening.

"The ties that bind us eh? Or separate us irrevocably," he shot Wynne an icy smile.

"Separate Taharka? We'll only be separate when I've pulled the heart out of his rotten chest. You're welcome for my recommendation. Devon doesn't like you much you know," she returned the smile.

"Have you eaten Judge?" Taharka gestured at the campfire where critters were roasting. Some of the men made room for he and Wynne, pushing an old plastic bucket his way. Dredd sat carefully and Taharka pulled one of the spitted critters free and passed it around on its stick. "Come here Wynne. Its cold tonight."

"Is it?" she asked, moving towards him and settling so she could lounge at his feet, chin on one of his knees. Taharka removed his cloak and draped it across her, pressing the back of one hand against her cheek.

"Careless beast," he accused, pulling her hair up and letting it run through his fingers. Wynne smiled, her great black eye reflecting the fire like a mirror. Having nothing left to say Dredd set his teeth into the football sized rodent creature and admitted it tasted better than nutrient bars and was a nice change from fruit and vegetables. "Must I decide to accept the offer of joining Psi-Division now?"

"Tell Anderson once we've dealt with Sunakarib," Dredd shook his head. Taharka smiled.

"So even Mega City One evolves does it..." he mused. In those green eyes Dredd was certain he saw that Taharka held a tentative belief in his offer but was more interested in getting to Anderson. Dredd hoped idly that Anderson would be ready to handle him and wondered if Taharka had just been playing cat and mouse with Sunakarib all these years. He got the sense that Taharka held back for the sake of continued entertainment, something to do out here. Now there was the prospect of new quarry.

At the very least Anderson just had to distract him long enough for Dredd to put a bullet between the man's eyes and they could get on with her training in peace. Roanoke and Salem would be safe, at least for a time, and Justice would be done in some small measure. There wasn't much more he could ask for.


	13. Setting the Stage

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the Judge Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N:** You guys are spoiling me rotten!

Chapter 13: Setting the Stage

Anderson sat up to her neck in the cold pond with her feet braced against one of the Gitaskog's coils. The familiar beast was settled along the shallow bottom, drifting into an elegant, dreamless doze with its heart beating once every several seconds. Night had finally set in, eleven o'clock, and Anderson was soaking her brutalized skin in search of some relief from the constant burn.

"At one with the beast?" Devon asked as he sat down on the dock and pulled out his pipe bag.

"Yes," she answered, eyes never leaving the fantastical stars. So long as she kept still the pond mirrored the sky, disrupted only by a faint breeze or a bubble from the deep. "Did Amanirenas send you to make sure I didn't drown?"

"I don't think any of us want to answer to Dredd," Devon nodded, his lion eyes slanting towards her as a fang showed in the dark with his smile.

"Hmm," she almost chuckled with a crooked little grin. At least Dredd had gotten over the perception of them as a pair. She supposed it was a more comprehensible bond out here where Judges weren't really understood.

"Can I ask why you became a Judge?"

"In Mega City One children take an aptitude test at age nine. I passed and was placed in the academy," she answered simply.

"It must have been difficult, being a psychic," he observed, the dry rustle of his pipe weed making pleasant background noise. She could smell the spiced leaves from here and found them strangely soothing, perhaps because Devon always seemed so easy.

"Nobody put it together the first few years. I took enough beatings as a kid in the system to learn when to keep my mouth shut."

"You were very young when your parents died," Devon observed, his sixth sense sliding through her defenses only because she left them permeable. "Sickness I think."

"Cancer," she nodded.

"And how did they find you out?"

"One of my school mates was scrawny and the butt of lots of pranks. I kept to myself mostly but I noticed when he didn't show up for class one day and the room felt...wrong. So I took a peek in some minds and learned they'd tied him up in one of the athletics storage compartments. It was lucky I did or he would have baked alive. It was 120 degrees that day."

"A good friend," Devon remarked, reading the warm glow of her regard for him.

"Yes, we became good friends after that. Of course Iraj is over six feet tall now and could easily bench Radkov. He got that way about the time he turned eighteen and people stopped picking fights with him. What happened between you and our favorite warlords?"

"I wondered if you would ask."

A match scraped against the rebuilt dock, a project completed in a few hours by Rosenberg because he said he wanted to work with fresh wood on their first day there.

"Taharka and Sunakarib were already men when I was a boy. When I first met them I'd been sold to skin traders – Slay Riders as we call them out here. Our two parties were stopping to gather supplies in the same town. They looked like Gods to me, both of them. You haven't seen him yet but Sunakarib is like a walking incarnation of war, great and terrible, but he was the one that recognized I was not mad, merely untrained. He simply broke my chains, tossed coins at the feet of my goat headed captor, and carried me away to camp. And it was Wynne's reviled Sunakarib that taught me control, patience, and turned me from a starved, frightened slave into a free man."

Smoke curled up around Devon as he lost himself in memories. Gently Anderson extended a tendril of thought, Devon's protection yielding. She realized that Devon still loved Sunakarib in a complicated pattern of brother and father figure. The Sunakarib in Devon's memory matched Amanirenas', a terrifying sight to behold. Six and a half feet of gray skin and granite cut features, his eyes a pale, uncertain color like opal, horns studding his forehead and running down his scalp, peaking from wild red hair only vaguely contained by a clip at the crown of his head. Devon had never seen him smile though he'd felt things like happiness and pride from Sunakarib over Devon's accomplishments.

"I campaigned with them during the war with Texas City," Devon said distantly, memories of the fighting swirling like myriad bubbles of foam in turbulent water. "We took supplies; medicine, food, clothing, ammunition. The neighboring villages were made wealthy with it, more than we'd ever dreamed for some raiding. And there was a girl."

Anderson recognized Wynne in his memory only because his mind tagged her as such. Her hair was woven intricately out of her face, pins made out of old bottle caps and shaped bottle glass winking in the raven tresses, face round with the incomplete transition into womanhood. Her dress was modest, the fabric unbleached and tattered at the hems, her feet bare as she hugged a bucket of water, looking shyly over her shoulder at Devon.

"I went to Taharka to tell him I was leaving. Taharka was always the boss. I hadn't said anything to anyone about Wynne you see because life here is hard, and for women it is cruel. I hadn't even confessed to her myself, hadn't made any promises, but I _knew _I wanted to spend the rest of my life close to her at the very least, in that little town the sun tried to burn off the Texas plains every day. But Taharka felt I was betraying the cause so he went to the local marriage broker – hardly better than a skin trader – and arranged Wynne as a wife for Sunakarib while I was out finishing up some of my duties for our unit."

"Did Sunakarib know?" Anderson frowned.

"No. To him women are distractions. I had tried to keep my feelings for Wynne a secret and failed."

Anderson felt the complicated frustration, the acceptance and loathing of Sunakarib's nature. Sunakarib had always been so kind to Devon, the family Devon had never had, but Sunakarib had been so cold to Wynne, used her and thrown her away as he had done with all his women, left her to the scorn of the townsfolk. It had ruined Wynne, broken her, made her cold.

"Taharka didn't care that I stayed then. He'd made his point. Sunakarib...I could feel his misery when he realized he'd hurt me, and his rage at Wynne, as if it was her fault for corrupting me with affection for a woman. But things were broken and there was nothing to do but part company. Anything else would have resulted in the death of both Wynne and myself."

For a long time it was just pipe smoke and the stars that kept them company. Anderson respectfully withdrew from Devon's thoughts to give him some privacy, to wrestle with old grievances and put them away again. She waited until her body temperature had descended to the point where she almost couldn't move before struggling up. Devon put his pipe between his teeth and held out a big, callused hand. With minimal effort he hoisted her onto the dock and gave her the towel she'd set out.

"You don't have to participate in the fight you know," Anderson shivered from the folds of her towel, looking up at the lion man. He smiled and for the first time she thought she could recognize warmth in his animal eyes.

"Its a part of life, allies becoming enemies and enemies becoming allies. You should know that very well Judge."

"Yes but it's my duty as a Judge," she shook her head, teeth chattering. "You have no obligation."

"Don't I? I forced you to take me along knowing full well I would have to face them."

"If you change your mind I won't think less of you," Anderson assured him, trying to imagine having to hunt down Rosalyn Colt or Iraj Kadivar, her friends and the closest thing she had to family. Judges turned bad, she knew that first hand, but those ones had been faceless to her, just another group of lawbreakers. How would it feel to hunt down Colt? Would she be able to pull the trigger on Kadivar?

"Much obliged," Devon nodded.

Distantly the sound of a motorcycle rumbled coming towards them. It was on its own and both occupants on the dock frowned. Anderson reached ahead and recognized Radkov's mind. It was agitated but rather than rifle through it for answers Anderson turned back towards the little house where Amanirenas lived.

The cool grass on her feet and the perfume of night time blooms were usually something Anderson savored but she was more interested in what Radkov had to say. Devon pushed the door open for her and she saw Amanirenas wrapped loosely in a shawl watching Rosenberg sand down what looked like a replacement chair leg. Both occupants looked up as she came in, dripping wet with teeth chattering, face blue tinted and intense.

"Radkov's back alone. Can you open the way?" she asked. Amanirenas closed her yellow snake eyes and Anderson felt the ground shake. Rosenberg set aside his tools and snatched a pistol from a nearby chair, belting it around his waist. He tossed Anderson a jacket and her gun belt and then the pair of them headed for the opening with Devon in tow.

Radkov reached them after only a few minutes of waiting. He killed the engine and swung down, pulling off his helmet and dropping it on the ground. He gripped Rosenberg's shoulder like the fellow Tek was land after being adrift at sea and took a few exhausted breaths. Rosenberg had managed to grab a canteen at some point and held it out. Radkov emptied it gratefully.

"Last I knew everybody's fine," he started, looking at Anderson and Devon. "They've gone to buy us some time though while Taharka and Sunakarib are fighting in the hills. They're going to offer their services to Taharka to try and crush Sunakarib."

Devon covered his face with one hand in an attempt to subdue a wash of panicked thoughts. Anderson maintained her calm, reminding herself Dredd was far from a fool. He knew what he was doing...right?

"So that leaves them out of the town. Our job is to lay an ambush then," Anderson forced her thoughts back to the task at hand. She suppressed a sudden spike of fear at facing Taharka. She'd only broken through Amanirenas' defenses once. There wasn't time to continue training first. There was no guarantee they'd have such a chance at him again, removed from the villagers.

"Right. It'll probably be a couple of days, but we need to move _now_," Radkov nodded. "And...can you do something for me?"

"What is it?" she asked, disgruntled by the timid sound of the question.

"Half of Salem and even Roanoke is on pilgrimage to pray to Amanirenas. They've made camp close to the Green about eight miles from here. Could you...send the Gitaskog to protect them? The recent battles have brought a lot of predators."

"Could you show me where? Direct pictures are easier to explain than a concept of distance," Anderson prompted, the barest trace of hesitation in her voice. Radkov frowned faintly in confusion. Anderson tapped the side of her head and Radkov shifted uncomfortably. He shuffled a few paces forward and hung his head with childish resignation.

"Don't go rooting around in there. Those are _my_ thoughts."

"Think of the place where their camp is," she advised and reached up so her palm could rest on his forehead. The direct contact would make it that much easier to connect with him and she would pretty much drop straight into his present focus.

She saw the camp as Radkov had, the huddled villagers, men and women he remembered from his childhood, some friends, some just background members. He was worried about them, felt their desperation in memories of hunger growing up and bandit raids. He understood their desperate need to pray, remembered going through it too himself when he'd begged Amanirenas to save his mother from the bite of Cudo wolf.

It hadn't worked of course...

Anderson snatched the look and feel of the place, the view of the river from there, and beat a hasty retreat before she saw anything else inadvertently. She bridged straight over to the Gitaskog, waking it gently as she showed it where she wanted it to go and what she wanted it to do.

_No goats, the villagers will give you goats if you keep them safe. Stay hidden unless there is something that attacks, Gici Awas or Cudo wolves or anything that would hurt them. Guide them back to the village in the morning._

The Gitaskog didn't protest and rose up from the crystal depths to slither over the boundary wall between Amanirenas' sanctuary and the corrosive Green River.

"Done," she stepped back from Radkov.

"I thought I'd be able to feel it," he scowled faintly.

"You don't have a sixth sense and there was no need to say anything. You had the memory I needed right up front," she shrugged. "Lets get the hummer packed up. I want us ready to roll in half an hour," she assumed more authority. "Rosenberg, you head back with Radkov first since the explosives need careful packing. Devon and I can walk."

"Yes but you're riding in the truck with me," Rosenberg informed her as the two Teks jumped back on the bike.

"I'm good to ride,"

"_You_ need to regain your strength and that means you're riding in the truck and sleeping," Rosenberg shook his head. Radkov turned the engine over and moved ahead before Anderson could argue any.

"I second the motion," Devon agreed as they turned to follow the receding tail lights. She rolled her eyes and moved as quickly as her weary muscles would allow.

When they returned Amanirenas was sitting out of the way outside her hut as the two Teks scurried in and out with their belongings, the truck backed up as close as it could get without damaging any of the plants. Devon ducked inside so he could grab his things as Anderson stopped next to the woman with her hands knotted in her lap.

"The time is now then," Amanirenas observed.

"We can't bank on another chance where he's not in town."

"You're a gifted psychic but this is premature. Both have many years of experience in war, treachery, and they're sickeningly powerful. Why do you think I haven't challenged either of them myself?"

"Dredd and Wynne should be able to take down Sunakarib which will leave Taharka for me," she replied.

"Taharka is the dangerous one."

"Good thing we're three psychics, a Judge, and two Teks against him then," Anderson smirked. "Unless you wanted to help out."

"No. I don't owe Salem anything," she crossed her arms and looked away. Anderson shrugged and went inside. She ducked into the stock room to change out of her damp things, peeling sunburn coming away with it. She couldn't remember ever being in so much pain, but by the same token she felt stronger. Shimmying into fresh undergarments and then her uniform she couldn't help but feel slightly relieved not to have to face Amanirenas in the morning.

She came out with her bag packed and moved towards the hummer. She'd just tossed it in when Rosenberg squatted in the open door and pulled hair out of the way. He hit her with another dose of medication and then peeled Al-Sayid's sensor off the back of her head.

"Are we going to make this official or what?" she asked and Rosenberg smiled.

"I'll buy you dinner sometime," he answered, taking her bag as he stood and moving it inside.

"I think that's everything," Radkov was saying as Rosenberg stowed her bag. He ran his hand through his sweat clumped curls. "We didn't get as many EMP mines made as I'd have liked."

"We'll make do," Anderson replied, hoisting herself in and making for the front seat. "Do we have everything?"

"Yeah. Better get a move on," Radkov nodded.

"Are you good to ride?"

Radkov held up a cracked bottle of caffeinated beverage, one of those energy drinks with the highest legal dose of caffeine. He sauntered back out of the hummer and closed up the back. Anderson rolled down the window and leaned out.

"Are you ready Devon?" she called. The answer was the revving of a bike engine. Amanirenas appeared suddenly and took Anderson's hand. She pressed a small glass flask into it it, the angry green liquid evidently part of the Green River.

"A limited weapon, but the river saved me and I try not to venture away without some of it on my person," she said. Anderson nodded, thinking it would be far more deadly in the hands of a telekinetic psychic than a telepathic one. All the same she tucked it into one of the pouches on her belt. Amanirenas backed away and watched as the small entourage pulled out and left her small paradise.

* * *

Anderson came around in the passenger seat just as they were pulling into town. She ground sleep out of her eyes, checking the skyline which was just barely teased into a hint of color. She'd only been out maybe five hours.

"We've got a ways yet. You should get back to sleep," Rosenberg informed her as he eased down main street, shuttered and boarded up anxiously. Fearful thoughts whispered through the town, rippling over the top of her mind. During her trials Anderson had gotten better at selectively blocking things and so Rosenberg was only present to her as an impression, his thoughts something she filtered out while her mind touched lightly on the townsfolk in search of information.

"I can take a shift at the wheel. You need rest too."

"Not like you do," Rosenberg shook his head. "I would have lost my temper at that woman."

"Those few days in Hell were more education about being a psychic than I've managed to come across my whole life," she smirked and Rosenberg glanced at her with pursed lips. "Its like turning on an overhead light instead of using a flashlight to see the inside of a warehouse."

"Is it packed with stuff?"

"Yeah," she chuckled, stretching her legs out and arching her back as the muscles screamed protest. She was definitely going to need to limber up before Taharka showed up. "Any word from the fronts?"

"Nothing yet."

Anderson swallowed a mix of frustration and concern. She would have given a lot to be out there with Dredd, not because she was overconfident in her abilities but because she hated the idea he would have to face the beast Sunakarib in her place. Wynne was there but Anderson trusted the other psychic only so far as Wynne's goals lined up with theirs. After Sunakarib was dead there was no guarantee she would have Dredd's back.

"Does Radkov have an idea where to set up our ambush?" she shifted her thoughts to something more productive.

"You can ask him. We have to stop in town to round up some bodies to help dig holes for the mines," Rosenberg shrugged. Anderson leaned forward to study their surroundings, looking towards the horizon. She vaguely recalled someone saying Taharka and Sunakarib were fighting northeast of town. She tapped into a nearby mind, sinking beneath its surface tension of fear in search of information about the town.

The terrain around Salem was mostly flat so finding a good place to ambush returning troops would be difficult. Salem itself was settled in a slight dip with some bluffs rising up to the south. As most of the wind came up from the south the earth at the feet of these bluffs sheltered what fertile ground there was to cultivate genetically engineered grains and vegetables to support the community. It would have been a nice town to own and from what Anderson gathered it had been owned and changed hands many times. The last warlord it overthrew had been during...if she measured it from this individual's sense of time it would have been during Radkov's boyhood. The mind in which she sought answers was jealous of its independence and eager to avoid control by anyone outside their surprisingly democratic community.

Withdrawing she felt it would probably be easier than they anticipated to get help. The general sentiment in town was that they wanted the warlords out. That explained the pilgrims going to plead to Amanirenas' deaf ears. No matter. The warlords would be removed.

The two riders ahead of them came to a stop outside an old building made out of metal and rock with a front porch. As their engines fell silent a light flared up inside, so soft and golden it must have been candle light. Anderson could hardly sit still until Rosenberg parked the hummer. She pushed her door open and slid to the ground, her knees buckling. Carefully straightening herself back out she took deliberate steps, stretching her legs with each one, pulling her arms up and rolling the shoulder joints.

"What's this building?" she asked, looking up.

"Mayor's house," Radkov replied, removing his helmet with a tug. In the beginning light his eyes appeared bloodshot. "You look like Hell mutie."

"Must be the new haircut," she fluffed her flattened curls and saw him smile despite himself. "What's the plan? The terrain seems pretty flat."

"It is," he nodded, crossing back to what was left of her Lawmaster. He pulled out an abused page, folded many times and yellowed. Devon's spurs jingled softly as he came to join them but Anderson was more interested in the movement on the porch.

"Fritz, that you?" asked an older voice, not ancient but gravelly from smoke. Radkov looked up and straightened.

"Sir," he answered, nodding stiffly.

"Sorcha said you were in town boy, but you came and went so fast," the man came down the stairs and she realized suddenly why his steps had sounded so strange on the porch. He was missing a leg and propelled himself with a hand carved crutch. Tall and lean, his hair cut short though it curled just slightly against his scalp, he had a cleft in his chin and dark eyes. Anderson immediately recognized him as Radkov's father. "You should have stopped by."

"Duty first old man. We had to keep our heads down and Taharka was staying with you."

"This your wife?" he looked hopefully at Anderson, his dark hair threaded with silver and deep lines of age cut into his leathery skin. Radkov cringed.

"My boss," he answered. "Judge Anderson, Yosef Radkov. Salem's mayor."

Yosef stared at Anderson, some of the light fading from his eyes as his expression grew almost sour. Then with surprising reflexes he smacked the back of Radkov's head.

"Look at her boy! She may be your boss but a lady's a lady. You let her get all rough like this and there's not a scratch on you! Now you come in here boss lady and we'll get you something to drink while my boy sorts out his priorities."

"Thank you sir, that's very kind but we're here on business. Radkov and I need to ask help in gathering volunteers."

"For what?" Yosef rubbed his chin, leaning on his crutch in a way that made it seem like a natural extension of himself. He'd been missing the leg a long time she surmised.

"We need volunteers to help us dig out some holes for mines. We should move inside so I can show you the terrain we have to work with and outline some sort of plan." The second half of Radkov's statement was aimed at Anderson. She nodded and Yosef shrugged.

"We'll get the kitchen warmed up and something in you for breakfast. Sava!" Yosef called back, agilely executing a 180 degree pivot. A window opened up and a teenage boy's head popped out. He was smaller and leaner than Radkov but certainly related, the same cleft in his chin and curls in his dark hair. "Sava, get word out to the town I need volunteers willing to get dirty and possibly up for a scrap. We'll take anyone, even the women, long as they can shoot."

Rather than climb back in Sava pulled himself through the window, his hands and feet too big for his spidery appendages. He was graceful in the way of a young animal, his movements full of energy and though rough they carried him with a swift ability to recover from any stumbling. He trotted towards them, slowing down for a moment to look up at Radkov who stared back down at him, and then he took off at a sprint like a startled deer.

"He doesn't look much like Maura," Radkov commented.

"Got her voice though. Boy can sing," Yosef shook his head. "Come on then. Bring your Madcap with you. Those things don't sit well tied up to the hitching post." Devon didn't seem perturbed as he started after Radkov and his father. Rosenberg kept to Anderson's side as he thumbed through displays on his small personal computer.

Yosef's kitchen table was big and well made, the metal legs curved with artful appeal and much work. Set into it were different colored stones depicting a simple geometric pattern along the edges. Drawn around the table were bench seats and a chair at either end, also made of metal carefully shaped to match the table. There were blankets made out of fur, probably goat since it seemed the hardiest of animals out here, and set on a corner were some battered old tomes of math and science along with a workbook.

A slender woman with a blond braid and worn but decent clothing lifted these up in callused hands, setting them aside on a book shelf with their equally roughed up mates. Her gray eyes ranged over them but stopped on Radkov. A smile came unbidden to her features, something she didn't seem to notice as her eyes brightened.

"Maura," he nodded to her. She opened her arms up expectantly. Radkov glanced back, almost as if for permission, before coming towards her and stooping slightly so she could hook her arms over his shoulders.

"Oh my boy, you're so handsome!" she said thickly, tears beading her lashes and one stray sliding down her cheek. "I was so scared you'd get yourself killed but look at you! Full grown and well fed! I'm so proud!"

"Your face is leaking. Its embarrassing," Radkov grumbled, cleaning the tears up with a thumb rather gently.

"I've got sixteen years of embarrassing you to catch up on," she sniffed, rubbing away the rest of her tears. "I'll start by getting you all something to drink. Sava'll be back soon and maybe you can say a few words to him before you go?"

"Yes ma'am," he nodded. She gazed up at him with such love Anderson felt a flicker of envy, something hot behind her eyes and tightening the muscles in her throat. Rising up onto her toes Maura gave Radkov a little kiss on the cheek before turning and disappearing through a dark corridor.

"She always thought you was hers, ever since you were small," Yosef shook his head. Radkov didn't say anything, just unfolded the tattered old page he'd pulled from his saddle bags and laid it out across the table. Yosef lit some of the lamps around the room so they could see. Anderson and Rosenberg both flanked the blue eyed Tek and surveyed a map.

"Judge Dredd and Wynne will be about here," he pointed to some hills. "Its about seventy miles from Salem. The terrain is hills except for this stretch here coming out of a depression. It creates something of a cliff ridge so there's a pass. Its a frequent spot for ambushes so they'll be cautious."

"How long is the pass and is it vital to the town's survival?" Anderson leaned over the map.

"We do a fair bit of trading with Raleigh through that pass," Yosef nodded. "But if that pass needs to come down to keep those warlords from further pillaging then bring it down."

Maura appeared and passed out drinks in fired clay mugs. Anderson wasted no time drinking, tasting mint in the cool water. Her companions emptied their mugs too and Maura poured them all a second round.

"I've got enough explosives I can take down one end. I would suggest cutting off their access to the town once they're in the pass," Radkov resumed now that he wasn't quite so parched.

"Bury whatever we've got left at their feet and set it off then," Anderson nodded. "You on one side, 'Berg on the other, and Devon and I will do what we can to block their escape. Does my bike cannon still work?"

"Firepower's good," Rosenberg nodded.

"That's a dangerous task Miss Anderson," Yosef scowled.

"A task that needs doing though," she shrugged, leaning over the map.

"Like I said, they'll be cautious. We'll have to take the scouts hostage and force them to report in," Radkov warned.

"Taharka's men speak a dialect foreign to these parts," Devon hazarded. "In the event that the scout opts for death my voice would be recognized in a report and the risks of someone repeating according to my instruction would run high."

"I didn't spend the last ten days idly," Anderson reminded him. "As long as the scout's not a highly trained psychic I should be able to 'suggest' he report as normal. I'll know if he's lying too."

"Where were you during the war? We could have done with that trick only about a hundred times," Radkov sighed heavily. Anderson glanced sideways at him and their eyes met.

"I was about five," she replied.

"Poor excuse Judge," he shook his head and she realized he was...teasing her.

"Won't happen again," she picked the humor up before it slipped away into their normal animosity. Radkov went back to the map, seeming to tally things mentally.

"Ten volunteers," Rosenberg suggested. "They can set the ground here and you and I can hit the walls on either side."

"No, I'll handle the walls of the pass. You need to direct them below. It'll take a few hours to make the detonators and a few more to calibrate all the mines to them," Radkov shook his head.

"The ride's bumpy but could you use the time in the hummer to make the detonator?" Anderson asked.

"There'll be time enough while the pass is worked," Rosenberg shook his head. "You need whatever rest you can get for now sir. I wouldn't have you awake now except you're the C.O."

"I can make it an order 'Berg," Anderson's voice shadowed slightly.

"Think logically. Its you and Devon who'll have to intercept the scouts which means you'll be alternating watches for them constantly when we get there. As it is you're not fit to ride let alone combat someone like Taharka. Whatever sleep you get now could just save your life," Rosenberg persisted doggedly.

Anderson wanted to accept the offer. Capitulating and accepting the sleep, desperate as her body was for it, felt dishonorable. Dredd would push through she thought. But she ached with a bone deep weariness, her skin burned so badly it was purple in places on her back and shoulders, the tops of her thighs and the back of her neck, the tips of her ears. Every muscle in her body was miserable, her skin savaged. Her psychic 'muscles' however felt ready, her mind sense sharper than it had ever been.

"We don't have any kind of guarantee how soon the warlords will be back," she shook her head at last, pressing her hands down on the table. "Radkov, you'll ride in the hummer and work on those detonators. I want them done by the time we get to the pass. Mr. Yosef Radkov, how long will it take to assemble some sort of transport? Are there vehicles in town?"

"A few," Yosef nodded. "We could pack your ten volunteers into one of 'em easy enough."

"With luck I'll have sent them back by tomorrow morning," Anderson nodded. "How long would you say to get them together with four days supplies?"

"Two, maybe three hours."

"Do you have any spare beds?"

"We can put you up most certainly, Judge."

"You three get some rest. I'll see our volunteers get themselves put together and wake you when its time to go. 'Berg, its an order," she held up her hand. "I got my rest on the way. I look worse than I am."

Rosenberg's usually neutral eyes were dark with frustration. His molars practically ground together. Radkov shrugged and sipped his almost forgotten mug of cold tea.

"We'll tranq her later," he told the red head.

"I'll get you some rooms together then," Maura said, getting up from the corner in which she'd settled quietly. "Frtiz, come help me with blankets."

"Come on 'Berg," Radkov pulled Rosenberg away from a stance that might have become staunch defiance. They followed after the whisper of Maura's skirts.

"Liar," Devon burred softly from behind her. Anderson didn't bother turning around to look at him. "Tonight at sun down you sleep."

"Sure thing," Anderson replied, wishing she could crawl into a bed and sleep for two weeks straight. Devon's spurs jingled after the techs and Maura.

"Them boys are worried about you. Mind, I'm worried with those burns and them bruises and I don't even know you," Yosef gave her a smile that made him young somehow. He poured more tea for her.

"Thank you. Its the boss' job to look after her men," she answered, sipping her tea. "There's a lot of work ahead and I need them sharp."

Sava suddenly appeared in the door, panting and rosy cheeked.

"Got 'em pa," he said. "Some twenty's come. Mostly women as the men are dead or out."

Anderson threw back the rest of her tea, set the mug down gently, and made for the porch. She held the door for Yosef and Sava following her and came to face a population of sturdy women in threadbare dresses, many barefoot with their sleeves rolled back. For the slenderness of hunger their forearms and calves were muscular, jaws set in hard lines, eyes grim. Human and mutant alike they were all staring at her. Three men all too old stood in their midst.

"I am Judge Anderson of Mega City One," she said for lack of a better starting point. "And I have come to handle these warlords."

"Why didn't you sick the Gitaskog on him last week?" one woman demanded, her under-bite jagged with rotten teeth.

"In the middle of town?" Anderson prompted, quirking an eyebrow. "There would be nothing left of Salem if we fought here. Now he's out of Salem I need ten volunteers to help me lay a trap in the pass and put them down once and for all."

"What kind of trap?" a very young woman asked, perhaps younger than Anderson herself.

"All I need are volunteers to help dig. Once that's done you'll return here to Salem and we'll handle the rest."

"I'm a steady hand with a rifle," the young woman said. "I want the blood owed me when Taharka 'drafted' pa."

"If you stay I can't promise your safety," Anderson shook her head.

"Don't matter none," a woman with skin like mocha shook her head. "My boy and husband both gone all I can do is marry to keep alive. Give me a rifle and I'll put some bullets in those killers for marching them off to use as bait, even if I find myself with a mouthful of lead." Angry cries of agreement rose up as she finished.

Their minds were hot to the touch, consumed in bitterness and rage, despair. Anderson didn't need to imagine how they felt when she could see it and much as she wanted to grant them their chance at vengeance the risks were too many. Four of them were satisfactory marksmen, hunted regularly, but the rest barely knew which end to point at a target. They would represent a massive liability with minimal return.

"I know you're angry," Anderson raised a hand and the snarls of the crowd came down to a simmer. "But I don't need an angry mob. I need bodies to help me lay a trap." Irritable whispers made the rounds before the young girl raised her hand like a school child.

"I can dig," she announced. "If I can't pull a trigger I can lay a trap." Hitching up her threadbare skirts she marched up the steps and when she came to Anderson's side she spun around on a heel and stared down at the others. Her green eyes blinked beneath a fringe of wheat blond bangs. "Well?" she demanded.

"I'd rather be with a rifle," the mocha skinned woman grumbled, moving up the stairs to join them. Eight more trickled forward, slowly at first before there was a sudden surge for the last three spaces.

"Yosef, where are those other transports you mentioned?" Anderson asked.

"I'll have Sava bring one 'round," Yosef nodded at the boy who bolted from the porch like a loosed hare.

"You three, shovels," Anderson pointed out three at random. "You four," she indicated the marksmen. "Rifles, in the off chance we're blindsided." The mocha skinned woman smiled in a way that reminded Anderson of Wynne somehow. "The rest of you with me to purchase and bring back water and supplies for four days. Once you've brought your things back here to pack you'll have half an hour to gather whatever you need from your houses. Anyone not ready to go by 0900 will be replaced. Dismissed."


	14. Red Dawn

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N:** I have had so much fun posting for you guys! You're all wonderful! To those of you I can't PM a thank you for your reviews THANK YOU!

Chapter 14: Red Dawn

Two days worth of skirmishes had made Taharka retreat further into the hills, offering the appearance of giving ground. He'd instructed Dredd and Wynne to sit out the fighting except for sniping from afar. This seemed a bizarre strategy except that Dredd could appreciate Taharka's desire to avoid an open space confrontation with Sunakarib. From his distant vantage point Dredd had seen plumes of fire shoot straight up, bursts tearing across the ground, and the occasional explosion in a less powerful sphere more force than fire. Stationed with two other snipers – presumably to keep an eye on the newest recruits – Dredd had taken careful note of the prowess of his temporary comrade, though the idle nature of his assignment grated on his nerves.

Wynne didn't seem to mind, whistling cheerfully as she picked away at targets, half covered by her dusty blanket to help her blend in. Her evenings were spent first at Taharka's feet and then in his tent which kept Dredd restless and on edge, in constant suspicion she would betray him. But nothing came of these concerns and when he suggested this may be a dangerous choice Wynne only sidled a little closer, pressing up against his arm as she tapped at his badge.

"Life's too short to pass up a good time Judge," she had informed him in a purr. He simply brushed her aside and collected his rifle.

Finally the third day came, fallen back into a hillside carved into strange catacombs by the wind. Sunakarib had "pushed" them back this far by nightfall and the attack had ended. Now Dredd stood beside Taharka in the predawn ready for an actual offense where he might participate.

Wynne came up behind him, her sturdy boots crunching up the path until she came to stand between Dredd and Taharka. The morning breeze pulled her hair back, tugging on the lengths of fabric on the red scarf she was knotting around the hips of her low slung shorts. There was a red cloth tied over her head beneath the cap too, both cloths' edges knotted with bones – with teeth.

Behind them was the rest of Taharka's brigand crew. They were loyal, lethal, and hardened as any Judges Dredd had ever worked alongside. Most of them were injured, some coping with recent amputations and so juiced up on a cocktail of pain killers in an effort to earn their share in the spoils they were practically invincible. And all of them had the red scarves with teeth knotted into the ends. The men had worn theirs religiously but this was the first time Wynne had donned any.

Wynne turned around and he saw the small red cloth wrapped around her hand. She unfurled it and carefully tied it around his arm, one fang dangling on its edge and delicate needlework depicting a ghastly creature like a too long skeleton hunched forward. Its long neck supported a set of scales, a sprig of wheat in one hand and the tatters of a cloth pouch in the other, coins at its feet.

"Seek the favor of Famine riding to battle," Wynne tested her knot. "And fool him with the sharp teeth of the starving. But even if War gets you the Devil deals in teeth. If you have enough sometimes you get a second chance."

"Duly noted," he replied wondering what horrors out here had cultivated the myth.

"The pair of you will move ahead with the first wave and I," Taharka announced. "Flee and I'll tear you apart." Dredd made no reply as the rocky slope seemed to whisper with movement, the soldiers moving to their assigned positions. Wynne didn't bother with a comment either, her weight on one leg and hands on her hips overlooking the stirring camp a quarter mile off.

"How's about a kiss for luck Judge?" she turned to him finally. Dredd again made no reply.

"Take the lead if you will?" Taharka advised. Dredd hated putting his back to the warlord but struck out first anyway, Wynne at his side as they descended into a labyrinth of jagged boulders in the predawn. They would make the first attack as Taharka and Wynne both insisted Sunakarib preferred his battles in daylight. Something about his eyesight not quite up to snuff in the dark.

Wynne was little more than a wraith fading in and out of visibility beside him, sliding around boulders and reappearing a few feet ahead. Taharka brought up the rear. It took a few moments to realize Wynne's strange progress had vanished. He wondered if she'd deserted when something dropped to the ground before him. It was too big to be a grenade so he toed it over and realized it was a mostly decomposed head. Looking up he spotted Wynne crouched like a demon, one hand stained black and a finger lifted to encourage silence. Behind her was the rest of her victim, the top half of his body decayed, the bottom half still just a freshly dead cadaver. Wynne held up three fingers and motioned for him to wait. She rolled backwards and vanished.

In a moment she reappeared, a dark, unholy sylph moving with preternatural grace. She beckoned them forward, dancing down the trails until finally they were close enough to smell the old cook fires and see the nearest sentries. Wynne gestured to him gallantly and Dredd switched his Lawgiver manually to incendiary. Aiming overhead he pulled the trigger and watched the bullet arch up beautifully before splitting and streaming down in tails of fire that lit up tents and a few sleepy bodies.

At once the camp was on the move, bodies bursting like angry ants from the sorry cover. A few bursts of gunfire went wild, nowhere near their immediate vicinity. Dredd set off another two Incendiaries.

"Can I try?" Wynne asked.

"No."

Taharka stepped past them and seemed to draw a deep breath. From where he stood, perfectly upright, the ground suddenly rumbled and split, a deafening noise shredding the dirt before him and decimating anything in its path for fifteen feet. Bits of tent and body struck the ground in a grisly rain.

"Charge!" Taharka shouted and those who had followed them along in a silent tide erupted in screams and surged ahead. Next to him Wynne made a face before she drew out her knife, wicked sharp and glittering. She set her hat a little more firmly on her head, tightening the string to keep it there. Saluting him with the knife she bolted after the other rushing bodies, mangled and mad like the hordes of a nightmare. Not to be outclassed Dredd gave chase.

Dredd hadn't been in an actual battle proper since Texas City's war of independence. It wasn't something one forgot. Only this time guns were the least of his concerns. Taharka shredded the ground as he seemed to calmly stroll past, bullets whizzing past him or sometimes it seemed one would get caught in an upward spiral of his psychic blasts. Men were shredded like lettuce leaves in a blender, spattered everywhere. Another mutant, presumably on their side, emaciated with swamp colored skin and boils seemed to exude a miasma that would curl around nearby men and asphyxiate them. He saw another mutant cause men to erupt in plague, their bodies bloating with disease as it killed them in a matter of a few miserable seconds.

All the while of course he took men down with well placed, exact shots. He moved from place to place, blowing men away with expert marksmanship. He kept his munitions to standard. With so many bodies he would risk hitting his 'allies' too, and they needed to remain allies until Sunakarib was dead.

Wynne dropped out of nowhere, all streaming raven locks and red cloth with teeth, her feral movements savage. Her arms were black to the elbow and her mutant eye's white pupil was dilated to the size of a quarter. She was closing in on the plague mutant who spotted her at the same time. They circled each other as Dredd picked off those that might catch Wynne.

She darted forward and sprang away as the plague man made a grab at her. She would have to get hold of him without him touching her which seemed troublesome. Dredd picked off another would be assailant, lacking a clear shot to just dispose of the mutant.

A shrill cry of glee sounded behind him. He jerked backwards and cracked his elbow into the face of a mutant that would have split his skull with an ax. It fell and he dispatched the malformed creature with a shot to the head and pegged three more headed for him. He dove for cover as something with a significantly higher caliber tore up the ground at his feet.

"Armor piercing," he commanded and let the bullet punch through the jeep tearing through camp and into the driver. The jeep screeched as it jerked to one side and tipped. He rolled back over so he could see Wynne.

The battle had shifted. Someone else had stumbled into the plague mutant and was suffering while Wynne was nowhere to be seen. And then all at once the plague mutant shuddered and the meat fell away from his shoulders, dropping to the ground, the tendons snapping, brittle with decay. He cried out and fell to his knees to expose Wynne behind him. She put a hand on the back of his neck and his throat and face decayed in seconds. She smiled pleasantly down at her work, pulling her knife back out and meeting an incoming brute with a club almost as thick as her muscled thigh.

There was suddenly a gout of flame so bright Dredd flinched away. When he could see clearly again Wynne was scrambling towards him. She leaped over the rock he'd crouched behind and grabbed his arm.

"Cover!" she yelled, herding them towards the overturned jeep and sliding around just in time. Dredd could feel the skin on his shoulders blister as he barely got around the car and a volcanic blaze shot past them. Wynne kept tugging, moving them away from the jeep as it rapidly began melting. They were barely out of range when the gas tanks exploded, both of them thrown into the dirt.

"Bolt shot," he growled out the name Rosenberg had assigned to the EMP bullet, rolling onto his back and firing at the figure moving towards them in the wavering heat. The bullet seemed to catch something and flash but there was no overt reaction to it. As he and Wynne got back to their feet and kept backing up the figure resolved into a gray skinned Goliath with wild red hair, craggy face in shadows and light from the fires raging around them. Dredd fired again to no avail. The bullet zipped towards him but slammed against a glittering shell, melting on impact with a shower of sparks and sliding down towards the ground. The Goliath – Sunakarib – lifted one hand and both Dredd and Wynne dove to either side as three shots of fire vaporized three other men unlucky enough to be behind them.

"You," he rumbled at Wynne as she crouched like a defiant wolf, ready to spring. Unadulterated hatred twisted his granite features into a demonic snarl. Wynne answered it with a smile so cruel it could have frozen blood. Her hands had been black thus far but now the discoloration spread all the way up her arms, bleeding down through her chest and back. The white pupil of her mutant eye widened, expanding to the size of an old half dollar coin.

"Hello hubby," she growled back. "How's about a hug?"

Fire belched forth in a crimson tide. Dredd rolled further out of the way, supposing it made sense why Wynne wouldn't betray them to Taharka, her interest in killing Sunakarib suddenly comprehensible. He barely had time to kill three other mutants racing up to reinforce Sunakarib. Back on his feet he performed a manual transition on the Lawgiver for High Ex and took aim.

The bullet exploded on impact with the superheated energies forming some sort of shield around Sunakarib. The shield shivered, energy rippling as Sunakarib turned one pale eye on Dredd.

"Stay out of it norm," he snarled, a gout of fire like a solar flare rushing at the Judge. Dredd threw himself to one side. He caught a glimpse of Wynne, her pistol cracking as her bullets plinked uselessly against the shield. Dredd fired twice more and on the second explosion the shield seemed to shatter. Wynne sprang like an avenging angel, her fingers reaching for Sunakarib.

There was a burst of fire like an explosion. Wynne was ejected from Sunakarib's proximity, her arms and legs drawn in to shield her face and torso. Like an animal her limbs sprang open so that she came down on the ground without falling, smoke curling around her, angry red burns marring the black flesh on her arms.

"Temper, temper," she clicked her tongue as Sunakarib snarled at her. Nearby tents went up in flame as the air around them wavered with heat, the breath suddenly burning in Dredd's lungs. He'd brought the shield down with high level explosives. Maybe he could break it and get one of the Bolt shots in before they came back up, now that he knew how quickly Sunakarib would recover.

The monster ignored Wynne entirely and turned his attention to Dredd, opalescent eyes alight with rage. He moved forward like an approaching tide. Sunakarib didn't even bat a lash at a spray of bullets from somewhere, all of them clacking against his shield.

"Elliot! Find some firepower!" Dredd advised and fired more High Ex rounds. Sunakarib's shield came down at the same instant he unleashed another devastating gout of fire. Dredd scrambled out of the way even as he shouted "bolt shot!" and fired again.

The fire abated suddenly, saving his boots from melting. Wynne went after the stunned Sunakarib, down on one knee and braced against the ground as the EMP bullet rattled his mind. Dredd struggled to twist around from the boulder that had shielded him to an angle that would allow a shot when Sunakarib jerked around and raised one bulky arm to fend off the leaping Wynne. Her hands closed on it, almost her whole body black, and the arm arm fell apart in two places, the wrist dropping and the elbow giving out.

And then Sunakarib had recovered enough, sparks popping around them as his boot met Wynne's middle and rocketed her backwards with a force that should have broken every bone in her body. She skittered backwards as Sunakarib labored up and Dredd's shot cracked against the renewed shields.

"I should have crushed you years ago," he snarled at Wynne, his remaining hand reaching for the shoulder of the wounded arm stump. Gangrenous discoloration was creeping further up the remaining appendage. With a brutal determination Dredd couldn't help but admire the mutant burned down through his shoulder, severing the corrupted flesh and cauterizing the vacant socket.

Wynne picked herself up, unsteady, a mass of cuts and bruises. She got to her feet as Dredd cursed his empty High Ex rounds. Rather than worry about the profuse blood and abrasions covering her she fixed her hat, turning the rim back just so. The black in her limbs was fading, creeping back towards her fingers.

"Was Devon so persuasive?"

"Don't speak his name witch!" Sunakarib snarled, half lunging forward so he crouched like a beast with his one arm and the smoldering, charred socket of the other pushed forward, as if it still had the missing limb. "You corrupted him, broke what we had built! You destroyed everything with your black touch!"

Wynne laughed, a rich sound as her head tipped back, staccato bursts hinting at madness. Dredd flipped his Lawgiver over to armor piercing, stepped out of his cover and emptied the clip. The first bullet hit the shielding and Sunakarib didn't care. By the third he had turned, stumbling upright. Dredd kept firing, holding his ground as the heat built. Wynne opened up with her little pistol too, those bullets normally an irritant but wearing as Dredd's heavy shells cracked against Sunakarib's defenses.

"I tire of you," he snarled as Dredd ejected the spent clip and snapped a new one into place. He planned to push it for all it was worth and duck at the last second.

A shriek of tortured earth and distorted air slammed into Sunakarib, bowling the monster over unceremoniously. Dredd advanced, continuing to hammer away at the shield the brute struggled to maintain. A second wave of screaming psychic energy shattered it and Dredd flipped over to the EMP shot and fired through the chest, watching the thrashing mutant spasm.

Wynne, black as a devil, her white pupil expanded so that the black iris was but a rim of darkness, sailed through the air and landed on Sunakarib's chest. His remaining arm shot up and took her throat, squeezing, but the fingers began to rot, crumbling in chunks of rancid meat. Her hands in the meantime withered the strong muscle over the monster's chest. In a motion entirely too fluid her fingers curled over the exposed ribs, jerked back with a wet crack, and her black hand shot into the exposed chest cavity of the bellowing man and she pulled out his throbbing heart. Sunakarib choked, his back arching so that his shattered ribs stretched skyward like reaching fingers, and then he was still. His heart lasted a fraction of a second longer before it crumbled away in Wynne's hand.

Dredd turned then to see Taharka with a satisfied smile on his face, gazing down at his fallen foe. Some animal instinct in him made Dredd shift the Lawgiver towards Taharka at about the same time a blast of sound waves tore across the ground at Wynne. Dredd landed a shot that made the warlord wheeze and stagger back as Wynne bolted from her kill. She took Dredd about the middle as he was barking the command for standard shot. As they fell back he just avoided a tendril of miasma seeking to asphyxiate him from the swamp skinned mutant. Rolling with his momentum he put a bullet between the mutant's eyes and before it even fell he and Wynne were back on their feet.

Mutants were converging on this point and Taharka was shaking off the effects of the EMP round. Dredd pulled off a beautiful shot that another mutant managed to stagger into at exactly the wrong moment.

"Incendiary!" he snarled, launching it behind them. Most of the camp was ablaze anyway between Sunakarib and his opening volleys. "How much ammunition do you have left?" he asked the bloody woman keeping pace with him as they fled through the burning camp. They took a corner sharp, Wynne sliding on her own blood and almost tumbling into a burning body. Dredd snatched a tail of the red cloth tied around her waist and jerked her back upright.

"Its about as useful as a hammer right now," she panted, forcing her stumbling legs to move.

"Half mile at least to the bikes. Can you make it?" he prompted.

"Well, I planned on our efforts killing us," she replied with a crazy grin. "But on the off chance we lived, I made sure we had something in the wings."

Wynne veered off to one side and Dredd followed. Her pumping arms dyed themselves black and as they cleared a boulder revealing battered old vehicles, many of them Frankenstein contraptions with assorted mutants fleeing to them. She threw herself onto the side of a jeep and melted the face off of a man struggling with the ignition. Jerking the messy corpse out of the way she fussed with the key a moment before ducking underneath and tearing out one of the panels below the steering column.

Dredd put his back to the jeep and killed about four more would be attackers with his dwindling ammunition. The engine snarled to life and Wynne banged on the door. Dredd hoisted himself up, forcing Wynne to concede the driver's side. It was an old petrol burning vehicle complete with an antiquated manual transmission.

"You sure you want to drive?" asked the savaged woman beside him. He pushed in on the clutch, threw it into gear, and peeled down the hill, bumping along down the uneven terrain. Wynne clutched at the bars that would ordinarily have supported a cloth covering for the roof.

Gunfire pinged after them and Wynne hoisted herself into the backseat with a groan, leaning heavily on his shoulder. He felt her back settle against his seat, her feet brace, and then the shuddering reverberations of an automatic weapon as she chased off their pursuit.

After about fifteen minutes the sound of sporadic attack and Wynne's answering fire fell silent. Dredd kept them angled back towards Salem, jostling them along the open ground, swerving around boulders and prowling over the hillsides. In another several minutes Wynne crawled back into the front seat she'd bloodied. Her hat and hair whipped about her head but she didn't seem to mind them.

"You're a cool customer," she said as she tugged on the strings of her boots. She hissed a little as she pulled the tongue of the shoe down to ease their rubbing against the burns, blistered and swollen, shaded purple and red. She must have been leaping backwards already when Sunakarib had thrown his shields back up. Her forearms didn't look much better. One shoe came off followed by the other before she stretched her legs out and seemed to slide into her seat a little more comfortably. Carefully placing her arms so the burns wouldn't rub against anything she leaned her head back. "Maybe I should pray to you instead of Famine."

"You should look to law," he corrected and Wynne laughed, the muscles in her throat shifting as they bathed in the glorious sunrise cresting over the horizon.

"A speck of order in the chaos Judge, that's what you are."

"Its law that protects people."

"When you go, so goes the law." She closed her human eye in profile, apparently calm but for the whites of her knuckles where she clutched the jeep in a quiet grimace of pain.

"Power like yours, you could do some good Elliot," he stated.

"I'm not interested in good." Her voice was soft enough it was almost swallowed by the wind and engine. The hand that had pulled out Sunakarib's heart clenched and a dark smile crept over her face. "I got mine."

"Watch out you don't wind up on the wrong side," he warned and listened to her laugh. Nothing else was said between them.


	15. Rigging

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Judge Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N: **There was a question about Sunakarib's defenses and why the bullets didn't work against him. He had kind of a psychic shield of super heated energies around him. That's why Dredd had to hammer away at him with excessive fire power until he cracked the shield. And then Wynne got him. :) Thanks again to all of you who review, and an extra tip of the hat to those of you without accounts so I can thank you individually!

Chapter 15: Rigging

Anderson didn't have to replace any of her original volunteers. All the women were ready, clad in hand me downs from husbands, brothers, and sons. Anderson's four gunmen stood with their rifles, one of them with old fashioned six shooters at her hips. They all had found shovels and the supplies were packed in the back of an old truck, more rust than a faded blue paint beneath dust and grime. Two women would be in the cabin and one, the youngest who had first volunteered, would sit in the back with a rifle nearly as big as she was. Her name was Enyo and she claimed to be twenty. Anderson knew she was eighteen but Enyo was the best shot of all her volunteers. In the event they ran into trouble she would be valuable.

Another larger truck with a cloth covering would handle their supplies and the rest of the women. It hadn't taken long to pack up as Anderson studied her small assembly of Cursed Earth wives. They were determined, their will overpowering their fear. But then most of them had faced down bandits and monsters before. They had an idea what they were up against. Life out here was hard.

Anderson stalked inside as Maura made the rounds with something to drink. It was time to go. She moved to the back of the house and saw Sava standing anxiously outside the door to his room. Inside the Teks and Devon were asleep, all of them soundly despite earlier protests. Anderson almost felt bad waking them.

"I never saw him before," Sava said quietly when Anderson stopped next to him. "Mom and dad talk about him, and he sends letters sometimes. But we don't have pictures."

It struck home for Anderson. The picture of her own parents was folded and tucked in her sleeve still, her good luck charm.

"You'll bring him back right? My brother?" Sava looked up with Radkov's blue eyes.

"I'll do my best," she nodded. Sava hooked his thumbs in his overalls and stared back at the door. Anderson took the knob and twisted, pushing through. Inside the men had barely managed to get their boots off before collapsing into slumber. She stepped across the room and nudged Devon's leg. The Madcap's eyes opened slowly. Anderson nudged Rosenberg too and the Tek popped up, blinking his lingering weariness away furiously. Radkov she gave a good shake.

"You've got five minutes," she informed the blue eye that glared up at her. "You two, boots on. Lets go."

They came almost stumbling after her, leaving Sava standing and staring at a brother he'd never known. Once back outside Anderson rounded up her would-be soldiers and got them all packed inside their transports. She had Rosenberg run a quick check on the engines and systems. Despite his bloodshot eyes and evident weariness he was inside both hoods and under both suspensions in record time before giving her a thumbs up.

"Could use some love but they'll hold," he informed her, squinting over at Enyo in her too big hand-me-down suspenders. He moved towards her and hoisted himself into the truck bed, holding out his hand. Enyo frowned at him before hesitantly offering the old fashioned rifle. Rosenberg ran a quick check, dismantling and reassembling it in record time. He handed it back and rubbed the back of his neck, a little pink from exposure.

"So?" Enyo prompted.

"You do that yourself?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Impressive. You should open a shop."

"Can't. Women don't get licenses out here, not to run a shop."

"No?" Rosenberg tilted his head to one side as Enyo checked his reconstruction.

"Nope. Women keep house and are later purchased as wives." Enyo ejected the bullet in the chamber and caught the shell as it winked in sunlight. She turned it over in her fingers. "Its how it is."

"If you ever get to Mega City One come find me. I'll find you something."

Enyo blinked at him as Rosenberg hopped out of the truck and went to check the other weapons. The women allowed it but assured him Enyo had beat him to their maintenance. It would seem most of the townsfolk took their guns to Enyo despite her gender.

Radkov emerged from the house with Sava following him and the Tek was actually wearing a smile. It suited him Anderson thought absently as she threw a leg over her bike. She looked over at Devon, rustling some papers. She was used to his pipe but he was rolling a cigarette out of a thin brown paper.

"Easier to smoke this and drive," he said.

"Tobacco comes at a premium in the city. It must be invaluable out here."

"It's a wealthy man's habit," he nodded, running his tongue over the edge of the paper. He rolled it and the paper stuck. "Sunakarib and I used to smoke in the evenings together. I guess it feels like family." His smile curled up one side of his face and she could feel his psychic ability brush against hers, reading the pang of sympathy for him. She didn't shut him out or snap up her shields, mostly because it was soothing to be what she was and not be rebuked for using her abilities in turn. Warmth bled over from him, the familiar feel of his power at work soothing that sorrow. "I came to terms with this eventuality long ago."

_'Fool,'_ she pressed into his mind and watched him smile much wider. He shrugged his shoulders as he put the cigarette between his lips. Striking a match he puffed until the tip lit with an ember.

"Do you know the way to the pass?" she changed subjects as Radkov was finally released by his mother – step mother she amended. Her glimpse of Radkov's unanswered prayers to Amanirenas for the sake of his lost mother offered this insight. Devon nodded.

"Its familiar to me. I won't get us lost." Fragrant smoke curled around him as he bound his shoulder length hair back at the nape of his neck. Behind them other engines growled to life. Anderson turned the key and felt relief to be back on her bike after so long, even if it was stripped of most of the things that made it a Lawmaster.

They took off as people crowded main street to watch them go silently. Their faces were hopeful as anxiety twisted their minds into intricate prophesies of failure and death. It was a poor vote of confidence, particularly as most of their expectations came from the fact that she was a woman leading. In the city it never would have crossed someone's mind that because she was a woman she was a lesser commander. Judges were Judges. They were respected and gender never entered into the equation.

The sun was brutal but this time Anderson was covered up and had her helmet on. Despite the way her sweat worked down her miserable sunburns she was so glad her skin wasn't exposed she could have cried. Dust rose up around them with their progress but they were otherwise unimpeded.

After three hours the caravan arrived at the pass, only about fifty feet across with high walls. Anderson and Devon ranged ahead to search for anyone already camping out in the pass. It was quick work to chase out a small group of bandits and then the hummer and two trucks eased into the pass. Radkov and Rosenberg both prowled over the ground like a pair of hyenas. They began marking out places to be dug with stakes.

"I'm taking you with me up to the cliffs," Radkov pointed at Anderson.

"Devon, take a look for scouts," Anderson instructed. Radkov tossed the Murugan an old fashioned walkie talkie.

"Good for two miles," he put the other in Anderson's hand and she clipped it to her belt.

"Pick a stake ladies," Rosenberg called as shovels clanged out of the bigger truck. "I need them about a foot deep each." He took one of the shovels, handed to him by little blond Enyo. Radkov pulled out rope and a satchel full of things that he carefully slung over his shoulders. When he'd gathered his supplies he climbed onto the Lawmaster behind Anderson and they made their way back up the pass and chose the right side of the cliff walls, a little closer to the Salem side.

Radkov had mountain climbing equipment in the satchel. He hooked and harnessed himself, handing Anderson a set which she recalled using in her training. It was a simple matter to get herself properly hitched and then they worked the right knots in tandem with the carabiners. Radkov secured the line to a nearby boulder, ran it through Anderson's harness, and then through his harness.

"Here we go," he said, checking his satchel was in place again. He'd also packed a considerable amount of explosives. Anderson gripped the rope and braced her feet. "Don't fall off."

"Don't slip," she replied. He eased down over the edge of the cliff, climbing down one hand and foot hold at a time. Anderson fed the line as she felt she needed to and then after a few minutes felt him tug. She pulled up the slack and wrapped the extra line around the boulder its end was secured to. "Good here!" she called, locking the rope in her harness. She felt the tension as Radkov settled into his harness and could hear the faint sound of a hammer in the rock face.

Slowly he worked his way along the cliff wall and rocks, setting the stage for a collapse of the pass. Anderson waited vigilantly, minding the rope and keeping the slack at the appropriate amounts. Finally Radkov was worming back onto solid ground, taking her hand and allowing her to add an extra heave to help his weary muscles. They both sat at the lip of the cliff, Radkov soaked through with sweat and Anderson finally allowing her nerves to relax.

"One down," Radkov sighed as she handed him a canteen of water. Now that she wasn't focused on not letting him fall to his death she extended her senses, reaching across the distance in search of anything abnormal. All she felt was emptiness but for the alien presence of some minds that might have been insects. Pulling the walkie talkie from her belt she clicked the transmit button.

"How's the hunt Devon?" she inquired.

"Coast is clear," came the delayed reply. "I'll let you know if anything changes."

Radkov glanced out across the horizon, rolling his shoulders. He smeared some sweat across his forehead before edging backwards.

"I'll be ready for the second side by the time we get there," he said, repressing a groan as he got to his feet. Anderson got up too, both of them disentangling the rope. She wound it up to give Radkov's back and arms a rest and they gathered their supplies before climbing onto the bike and heading around and across to the other cliff face.

Sundown wasn't terribly far off by the time Anderson hoisted Radkov back up onto the opposite cliff wall. He rolled onto his back panting, staring up at sky fading from blue to purple to red. Anderson could only imagine how tired he was after all that time maneuvering on the cliff walls. Her back, arms, and legs were miserable too after just working the belay. Her burns felt raw and they were both thirsty, polishing off the canteen.

"Come on in Devon. I'll take first watch," she instructed into the walkie talkie with careful control over her breath.

"Be back in soon then," came the weary reply. Anderson pushed up onto her feet, holding a hand out to Radkov. The Tek took it and she pulled him up, feeling the tremors of fatigue in his muscles. They both fumbled out of the harnesses and carefully put them back together in the carry bag with the neatly folded rope. Radkov settled heavily behind her, his hand like a lead weight on her burning shoulder.

Anderson brought them back to the mouth of the pass where Rosenberg had decided the camp would be, tucked against a small outcropping of rock wall. Weary, sweaty women were making their beds out of blankets gathered from home, huddled close together to ward off the bitter night chill. Enyo was distributing rations for dinner, depositing them in blistered fingers.

"Is the wall set?" Rosenberg asked. Radkov nodded as he swung off the bike. Rosenberg pointed him in the direction of his things and the other Tek simply stumped across the ground, collapsed into the bedding, and didn't move again.

"How's the pass?" Anderson asked.

"Done," Rosenberg answered, handing her a protein bar. She tore the wrapper back and took a bite, her churning stomach grateful for anything. "They won't be tripped by weight moving across them but I'd like to minimize our back and forth all the same."

"I'll cross over tonight. Devon and I will make camp on that side. Tomorrow morning I want these women rounded up and sent back to Salem."

"I'd rather stay," Enyo replied.

"Absolutely not," Anderson shook her head. Enyo scowled through smears of dirt on her face. She crossed her arms and sized the Judge up. "'Berg, you'll have to get them back safely."

"If you're sending us away we don't need an escort," Enyo snapped. "I'm the best shot in Salem and Klara there's not bad either. Not to mention the place pretty much cleared out of other competition when Taharka and Sunakarib showed up."

"Nothing came up on scanners and you polished off whatever brigands were here," Rosenberg shrugged when Anderson looked at him inquisitively. She reached out with her mind, poring over the way they'd come, almost forty miles from Salem. Her reach didn't extend terribly far but again it was empty. She touched instead on Enyo's mind, young and filled with an angry grief. She wasn't lying about her skills and sifting rapidly through memories she looked for combat. It was there, fending off thieves thinking she and her father would be easy prey. How wrong they were.

Anderson glanced at Klara with the mocha skin and saw she too had fired shots, mostly at Gici Awas and Cudo wolves. She didn't miss her target though. It of course was different to face down armed men than stray animals but there were four marksmen after all. And Anderson needed as much manpower as she could get. She struggled with the decision.

"'Berg, see them to safety. The hummer has more firepower but I'm more maneuverable on the Lawmaster. Up and out before dawn, back here immediately," she ordered and felt a thrill shoot through Enyo. Glancing at the girl she was almost shocked to see the shy way Enyo's eyes flicked to Rosenberg and quickly away. Passing her radio to the Tek Anderson went back to her bike.

"We'll report in if there's trouble, one way or another. If the tech fails..." she tapped the side of her head. Rosenberg simply nodded. "Tell Radkov that he's got to get in position on one of the cliffs at dawn and stay there. Get him up for second shift watch."

Her orders dispensed Anderson made her way through the canyon. Holding her breath she eased gently over the carefully disguised terrain, fearful despite assurances that one might be pressure sensitive. Coming out the other side with all her limbs in tact she reached ahead for Devon and felt him approaching, his headlight almost a mirage in the orange-red sunset.

"Meet anything out here?" she asked and Devon shook his head.

"Tomorrow I'll chance a look ahead, at least as far as I can hear gunfire."

Anderson tossed him a nutrient bar which he accepted gratefully. They made camp a little east of the canyon mouth in a slight recess after clearing out some lurking serpents. It was an easy task between them with their sensitivity to the presence of others, offering up a little thread of fear or suggesting it was time to find a new hiding place.

Rather than build a fire they simply laid out their blankets and Devon packed his pipe to wile away the hours of first watch. Anderson offered but the Murugan only shook his head, animal eyes throwing back the last vestiges of light eerily.

"Hey Devon, can I ask you something that might sound...rude?"

"Sure," he shrugged.

"There seem to be two kinds of mutants out here," Anderson stifled a yawn. "Why are some born with animal attributes and others with more traditional...mutations?"

"You're right. That sounds rude," Devon teased as he struck a match and puffed at his pipe. "Stories vary. I prefer the theory that shortly after the bombs dropped scientist tried to splice animal genetics into our DNA so we might adapt better to what was happening. Radiation complicated it though and as a result sometimes different genes manifest. I'm not sure how else a man could look quite so much like a lion," he raised his eyebrows at her. She chuckled.

The night was uneventful and Rosenberg reported in before departing with his caravan the next morning. Anderson and Devon prowled the wastes, Devon pushing ahead for most of the day. Rosenberg returned without incident and claimed his post opposite Radkov, parking the hummer out of sight until the ambush was sprung.

It was dusk before Devon returned to report that both camps were hunkered down for the night. The long hours waiting made Anderson restless and worry gnawed at the edges of her mind. Devon again took the first watch and she drifted off to sleep smelling his pipe smoke. The next morning passed in much the same idleness, the prowling over the open spaces as she stretched and strained her powers, grasping for some familiar mind.

Around noon as she and Devon took shelter near the cliff face her roving senses brushed across something familiar. Sitting up straighter on her boulder she honed in, straining her nerves as she double checked the presence.

"Dredd and Wynne..." she said aloud, relief washing over her. Vaulting off the boulder she threw herself onto the Lawmaster and jerked the walkie talkie free. "Dredd and Wynne are back. I think they're alone but take your positions."

"Roger," Radkov drawled back.

"Devon take your position to the south," she instructed before taking off like a bat out of hell, dust and rocks spraying behind her back tires. The sound of his motor became more distant as their trajectories took them further apart.

A jeep appeared on the horizon alone. Anderson stopped and sat idling, her helmet left behind as the wind pulled on her hair beneath a savage sun. Her eyes strained to make out the details of the passengers bumping along as fast as the terrain would allow. Metal flashed and Anderson assumed a gun barrel was pointed her way. She raised a hand and waved.

Dredd was driving, his usual frown in place. His chin was perhaps a little more tan and in need of a shave before he grew a full on beard. Blood, soot, and burns were on his uniform and she couldn't tell if he was injured in his normal stoicism. Wynne was a wreck however, covered in second, possibly third degree burns along her shins and forearms. She bled or was bruised all over, hair singed, and there must have been a few breaks judging by the swelling in one arm and the discoloration of her foot and ankle.

"Anderson," he nodded.

"'Berg's got the hummer through the pass. There'll be medical supplies there," Anderson said automatically. "How far behind you?"

"Little ways. Taharka had some mop up after we killed Sunakarib," Dredd replied. "Picked off about four more scouts after initial pursuit. Probably not long before others follow."

"I gather he'll be expecting trouble," Anderson squinted in the direction from which Dredd had come. Dredd only nodded. "I need a scout. I'll meet you back at the pass." She pulled a canteen from her saddle bags and handed it over. Dredd twisted the cap off and handed it to Wynne who made no qualms about taking a long drink.

"Drive careful. The pass is rigged."

"Good," Dredd nodded. He threw the old jeep back into gear and pulled ahead as Anderson moved back along the tracks they'd left.

She only ventured a little further before moving slightly off course and ranging ahead with her senses. For two hours she waited, stretched to the farthest range of her abilities, groping for whoever might pass into her snares. Two minds finally approached, neither of them psychic, and as she gathered her senses to spring she felt more minds cross into her reach. Suddenly the area was teeming.

Turning sharply on her bike she tore back towards the pass at speeds that would kill her if she made a mistake. There were a lot more bodies headed their way than she could handle on her own. People had to be in place.

_'Stay put. We'll come in from behind,'_ she informed Devon when she passed close enough to feel him. His response wasn't as clear cut this time as she'd startled him with her sudden invasion into his thoughts but he conveyed he understood. Tearing over the desolate plains she spotted the pass coming up and jerked her walkie talkie free.

"'Berg, you there?" she demanded.

"Patching Wynne," Dredd's voice came instead.

"Seems scouts are out of vogue. We've got the whole group headed our way."

"Taharka?"

"Ah, let me see if I can get a read on him without tipping him off," she slowed down and came to a stop, reaching back along her flight path and sifting through the other minds. "No," she said at length, a chill running up her spine. "No he's gone off in search of more power."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Yes."

"Can he wait?"

"He'll have to. They're too close on my tail." Anderson put the bike back in gear and swung further north along the pass. She ducked behind a small outcropping of rock about thirty yards from the mouth of the pass and crouched down behind the stripped and salvaged bike, listening to the growing thunder of engines approaching. Rather than give them a chance to think about their charge – though they were so keyed up on victory and something that might have been pain killers they didn't seem to care about anything – she urged that sense of invincibility in some of the minds that seemed to be regarded as leaders. She brushed past what she recognized as Devon's senses urging them on at an emotional level.

In a few short minutes the vehicles were forming up into a column and streaking into the canyon. Anderson hopped back onto her bike and pulled out and away from the cliff wall she'd been hiding against, angling to loop behind them. She could see Devon not too far away.

There was a deafening 'boom' and the ground shook, followed by distant shouts and the rumble of falling rock. A second earth shaking boom rattled all the way up into Anderson's teeth. She'd been wise enough to pull her senses back so she wouldn't feel their lives snuffed out and get hit with the series of thoughts that came at the end or to endure the jarring cut off of a mind suddenly silenced forever.

Gunfire sounded ahead so she and Devon eased into the canyon to polish off whoever was left.


	16. The Valley of Hearts

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Judge Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N: **This one is for Arienhod, as an apology for the time-zone snaffoo a few weeks back. And this is for Darth Gilthoron: ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, ,,,, :D

Chapter 16: The Valley of Hearts

Wynne was whistling again as she lay on her belly with her knees bent and ankles crossed, the broken one resting on the good one, picking away at confused and terrified members of Taharka's war band struggling through the carnage below. Her human eye was closed as the mutant one darted between targets, arms positioned in what looked like a strenuous hold to avoid pressing the bandaged burns against the ground. She was on one side of Dredd while Rosenberg fired away with the considerably heavier fire power of the hummer to the other. Dredd himself made liberal use of a rifle the Teks had packed in the hummer in order to conserve whatever was left of the ammunition in his Lawgiver. Across the pass was Radkov firing and coming in from behind Devon and Anderson deterred any retreat.

The fight was over in less than fifteen minutes without a wound taken on their side. Next to him Wynne sighed, almost as if disappointed, and set aside her rifle. She perched her chin on her good arm, laid the splinted, broken arm on the ground, and studied the carnage below.

"Taharka must be through playing out here if he sent all his men to slaughter," she reflected. "That wasn't even a challenge." The hummer door popped open and Rosenberg hopped out, moving to the edge of the cliff.

"All good down there?" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. Four more shots cracked through the air.

"Yes!" Anderson called back up.

"I bet he's got something special lined up for your girl friend," Wynne continued her speculation.

"Like what?" Dredd prompted, getting up from his cover. He held a gloved hand out to her. Wynne rolled onto her back and tucked her good hand behind her head, staring up at him. The seductive positioning might have worked better on a lesser man if she weren't covered in blood, bruising, and grime. As it was even her sumptuous curves couldn't quite overcome the general impression of warmed over death.

"If it were me I'd take her somewhere I could break her piece by piece," Wynne replied, her mismatched pupils constricted to pinpricks against the high sun. The human eye wasn't black so much as a rich brown. The mutant one was like a well of ink. "He has no intention to hold back. I wonder if he thinks he'll walk away alive?"

"Why didn't you kill him? You had opportunity." Dredd asked.

"Sunakarib was still alive," she twitched one shoulder in a shrug. "Taharka's death is far less important to me." She reached her good hand up to him and he helped her up onto her good leg where she stood perched. "And Decay is hard to induce without absolute focus. Pain helps," Wynne turned her splinted arm over, as if relishing the pain.

Dredd pulled the radio from his belt.

"Anderson, where's Taharka?" he asked, stepping towards the cliff edge. Behind him Rosenberg came and let Wynne loop an arm lazily over his shoulders. The red headed Tek seemed moderately uncomfortable placing his hand on the bare skin at her waist, which just made her smile.

"Due east. Someplace called the Valley of Hearts. He had a villager taken, someone from the pilgrims. I gather the Gitaskog managed to save everyone else," Anderson answered and he saw her below leaning against her bike. Wynne's head tilted to one side. "I picked up enough in landmarks and folklore I think I can get us there." Despite her wounds Wynne practically dragged Rosenberg towards Dredd and held out her hand expectantly. Her face was set with a strange expression. Dredd gave her the device.

"Teeth," Wynne instructed. "Do not walk into the Devil's Valley without teeth to purchase the way back out."

"Why would he go there? And what about teeth?" Anderson looked up, blond hair tossed around as her sunburned face was peeling and red.

"Do you think mine a common ability?" Wynne asked. "If you bring the devil the right teeth you can make a deal. He is always after teeth. I know you do not cross into that place without the intent of a deal and you do not come back out without giving him teeth. You will not survive his taking _yours_." She released the button enabling transmission and pushed a finger into Dredd's chest. "And you shouldn't go there. Psychics have some defense but you are a norm and you don't. That place will corrode your very soul. At best it will take something from you that you will miss."

Dredd stared at her without comprehension. It sounded too much like a fairy tale. Something moved across her face, a fleeting expression of loss. She turned her hand and ran a knuckle along his jaw, looking caught between hope and yearning.

"For instance there is only pain that can be felt. No more sensations beyond that. And there is never rest, only the use of hours and the curious expressions made by those that actually feel. It stirs memories, echoes, but not actual sensation."

Dredd took the radio from her and brushed her hand away.

"Rosenberg, you and Radkov take Elliot in the hummer and radio in when you've reached the valley. You'll receive further orders there. With luck this will be done by the time you arrive."

Wynne tugged at her sash, pulling it from her hips and pushed it at him. She pushed her hat back and then wrenched the bandanna off her head, handing him that too. The muscles in her temple shifted, her unruffled exterior pale, and her mutant eye was opened so wide it looked like it might bug out of her head. If Dredd didn't know better he would have called it fear. Without a further word Wynne began hobbling away with Rosenberg as a crutch.

Dredd leaned over the edge to glance down at the handholds. Anderson was looking up in evident confusion, what seemed to him more proof that she kept out of his head. Devon came up behind her and offered the helmet she had left somewhere in her usual carelessness. Carefully Dredd lowered himself down the cliff face and scaled down nimbly, one hand hold at a time. He reached the ground, muddy with blood, hearing it squelch beneath his boots. Anderson's helmet was back on and her head tilted as he handed her one of Wynne's sashes.

"Elliot insists," he folded the other and tucked it into one of the pouches on his belt. Anderson shrugged and propped one booted leg on the exhaust of her salvaged Lawmaster. Dredd noticed the blood seeping through in two places on her thigh. She had apparently used a basic field dressing to cover both ends where the bullet had passed through. Wrapping the red cloth around the injury, the longer sash, she knotted it tightly over the entry wound, making no comment about the grisly teeth knotted along the hems.

"I'm driving," he held out a hand. She dropped the keys in it and let him get on first. She settled behind him, barely any weight at all. One of her hands pressed down on his shoulder and sent lancing pain down through his back and arm, even curving into his chest from the blisters beneath his uniform. If proximity to Sunakarib's flames was that devastating he pitied the poor men and women who'd been subjected to the full onslaught.

Anderson pulled her hand away and it sounded like she drew in a breath to say something. She thought better of it as her fingers found a hold at his side instead.

"You're going to need a new uniform when we get back," she remarked as he turned the engine over.

"I'd worry more about all that paperwork you agreed to do," he replied and heard her chuckle.

"Due east the Valley of Hearts," Devon remarked as he eased ahead of them.

"Have you been?" Anderson asked.

"No. But Wynne was never the same when she came back. I would heed her warnings."

"Do you want some teeth?"

Devon smiled faintly as he unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and exposed the necklace of teeth wrapped up and around his forearm like Buddhist prayer beads. It was an impressive collection considering his forearm was almost half again as wide as Dredd's. The lion man pulled his sleeve back into place.

"I'll follow you," he motioned them ahead.

The sun at least was at their backs as they left the grisly scene of the pass. Dredd wished he had his Lawmaster, left behind after the assault on Sunakarib. This stripped down version seemed to get more speed but it felt less sturdy, almost like a good wind might bowl them over. At his back Anderson would call out occasional directions but she was for the most part silent.

Up until now Dredd had felt considerably accustomed to the Cursed Earth in that he recognized most of it as dead and flat or full of rocks and boulders. There was a place however, in the late afternoon, where they came upon what looked like a lake bed. Rising up like ghosts were ghastly pillars of limestone, chipped flakes littering their feet like bone shavings. Dredd eased up on the throttle as they reached a long ago bank of cracked earth and considered the treacherous downward slope.

"That's it," Anderson nodded. Dredd eased on down the slope, both of them leaning back slightly to give the back tire a little more weight than the front. As they crossed off the cracked earth and onto the bone white stone Anderson's hand at his side suddenly constricted and she curled forward, her helmet clacking softly against his as she braced against something.

"What is it?" Dredd asked, braking and bracing his feet on either side. His Lawgiver was out automatically, hunting their eerily still surroundings.

"There's something here," Anderson whispered. Dredd twisted around to look at her and saw Devon too was hunched over his bike, clawed hands so tight around the handles that their sharp tips dug into the flesh of his palms, drawing beads of blood. His expression was twisted, drawing back to expose his elongated canines and wrinkling the skin around his nose into a predator's snarl.

A plume of fog sighed out of both the psychics, Anderson shuddering violently. And then the pain seemed to have passed as her hand at his side relaxed. She shivered again and when she lifted her helmet her lips were faintly blue.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"I feel like I'm standing in two places at once," Anderson groped for an explanation. "We crossed something, sort of a threshold. There's more here than just this place. And its cold, whatever that other place is."

"Will you be able to handle it?"

"You don't get to take Taharka too," Anderson shook her head, blue lips smirking. She was still shivering, just slightly. It would be wisest to leave her he rationalized, but then if there was something here he couldn't even sense it might be wise to have someone along who could. He hesitated, watching her bite down to keep her teeth from chattering and feeling the muscles in her legs flex behind him in a refusal of more shivers.

"We'll proceed on foot from here," he relented at last. Anderson nodded. "Marquerik! Are you ready?"

"Ready," the lion man nodded, tremors barely kept out of his voice. Their breath still appeared in roiling clouds from between their blue tinged lips while he sat in hundred degree heat.

The bikes were stashed a short ways from the beginning drop off. Dredd picked his way down in the lead on uneven rock, worn smooth and curving, worked lovingly by centuries of water now gone. The great limestone pillars grew taller around them like temple ruins but otherwise the landscape was unremarkable. Anderson passed him suddenly, sliding down some moon colored stones polished to a gleam. She seemed to radiate cold as she pulled her helmet free, brown eyes narrowed. Dredd snaked a hand out and caught her arm as one of the stones she stopped on gave way, potentially sending her careening over a steep ledge into a pit carved by currents. He grabbed onto one of the pillars as she leaned forward, fingers curled lightly around his forearm in return.

"What is this place?" she pressed the heel of her free hand into one eye, frowning in pale faced disbelief.

"Wynne said this place was pitted with death," Devon warned. "And to avoid those pits."

"Ugh," Anderson backed away.

"What's there?" Dredd asked.

"Energy. Power," she shook her head. "Can you hear it?"

"No but I feel it," Devon replied. "Fear, despair, hopelessness, submission."

"So many regrets..." she shook her head again, as if maybe she could dispel the sensation. "So many memories all caught here but they're not ours. They're not _from_ here."

"And there's nothing that can be done for them now. _Don't_ follow them," Devon took Anderson's upper arm and pulled her away back onto the makeshift path they'd been following. The lion man threw a nervous look over his shoulder, breath spewing from him in silvery steam. They both of them were pale, as if maybe it was a different sun shining on them rather than the blazing gold disk practically melting Dredd where he stood. The senior Judge looked back into the pit and saw only shadowed earth and current carved stone. Everything was still. If not for the physical evidence that something here was so terribly off he would have thought the sun had baked madness into his counterparts. He followed them up but it was Anderson who took the lead, Lawgiver out with her eyes wide and searching.

The old lake bed was filled with grottoes, arches, chipping shale steps, gullies and fantastical carvings in the earth and stone beds. They twisted and swirled like ribbon or reached up defiantly, seeking the sky far above. Anderson led them, pausing now and again in search of a route. Devon would point out a path, sometimes more difficult. They seemed to both be avoiding the deeper pits.

Finally they came to a place that smelled like cold earth and dead plants. Beneath their boots there was a tangle of greasy foliage, like matted hair, squelching. The veins in Anderson's neck and face stood out, delicate blue beneath a moon perfect complexion. Her lips were purple and as Dredd halted beside her she seemed to exude a sepulchral chill. He studied the downward slope into eddies of silvery mist and felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. For the first time he heard the whisper of something indistinguishable. Devon was on Anderson's other side, his face equally as ghastly.

"Taharka will no longer be our primary concern," Anderson whispered.

"No?" Dredd asked.

"No. He's chump change. Last chance Devon. You don't owe us anything." Anderson's voice never rose above a breathy whisper, delicate as frost, eyes somehow vacant. Devon's only answer was to unsling the shotgun from his shoulder. A smile flickered over Anderson's face and she plunged ahead, wading into the mist. Dredd followed with Devon bringing up the rear.

"_Mama?"_ Dredd twisted around in the dim light, like moonbeams in deep water. The falsetto call echoed around him. _"Mama?"_ Footsteps coming after them, small and skittish, their noise clattering from every direction in fluctuations of nearness and distance.

Anderson's hand pressed against his chest, small and gloved, seeming to morph out of nowhere with her translucent skin and too dark eyes in the murk. She was staring off to his right. Dredd followed her gaze and spotted a pair of golden eyes like molten coins, a little face framed in curls with a frilly dress.

"Do not follow them," Anderson warned, her voice disembodied and echoing.

"Are you here?" Dredd asked as she began turning away with a dreamy smoothness. His words didn't disrupt her, her edges almost fraying in the mist. Dredd reached out and caught her shoulder guard, turning her back to face him abruptly.

"_Reg?"_ A woman's voice this time, background to him as Anderson looked up at him.

"Are you here with me or with them?" he asked, ignoring another set of eyes blinking to light.

"Hard to say," Anderson replied.

"_Why!"_ shrieked next to them. _"Why this? Why now? We had it all?"_ Something clawed overhead, scuttling past and causing dirt and rock fragments to patter softly on his helmet. Anderson watched it go.

"Anderson," Dredd took her chin, forcing her gaze back on him. "Put your walls back up."

"Can't move through the mist then. Easy to get lost."

"_I'm not ready!"_ Hands gave Dredd a solid shove, straight into Anderson. She acted as a cushion between he and a rough wall. He pivoted, Lawgiver raised, and felt something clawing up his leg.

"_What a handsome one," _leered a face that defied description, long and beautiful and terrible, fluctuating back and forth between these elements like malleable clay.

"Enough," Anderson hissed, leaning across Dredd and pushing her palm against the forehead. It recoiled as if burned and unraveled, the gold eyes winking out. "Enough, I'm here for the man."

Laughs surrounded them like choruses of hyenas and screeching bats. The ground shook violently under them. Dredd bent his knees and braced with one hand, Anderson pressing back against the wall. Dust and rock chips fell down around them in an earthy rain. Devon snarled like a true Serengeti king, crouched to keep from being bowled over by the tremors. His eyes blazed like the assorted phantoms around them. Their laughter stopped and they shied back. The ground became still, rocks groaning overhead.

Even Dredd felt the wave of fear wash over him. He recognized it as a projection from Devon only because he'd watched Anderson react so violently during her training. Bracing himself against the irrational need to flee he watched the mist recoil from the Empath, separating into tendrils and vaguely defined forms, surrounding them with thousands of ember gold eyes.

Devon got back upright and stalked forward. As he moved the phantoms fell away, drawing back from him, their misty outlines simmering as if he exuded fire. Anderson pushed up off the wall and made to follow. Dredd pulled her back around to face him. She was still ghastly but her eyes were a little more connected, her outlines solid.

"I'm here," she said, meeting his gaze through the visor. This time he believed her.

Devon forged the way ahead and his projected emotion repelled the phantoms, whispering like water, eyes in contorted faces drifting around them, following. Anderson no longer drifted forward but moved with crunching steps, the gravel marking her presence as solid. Her powers were ranging ahead but she seemed entrenched in her body again.

All at once the phantoms withdrew in a low tide to expose a grotto lit somehow with infernal red light. The ambiguous edges fading into embers and shadow weren't Dredd's focus as he and Anderson both trained their Lawgivers on the figures ahead. Rather his peripherals picked up the scattered pebbles rising in dunes around them. Yellow and white, about the size of corn kernels, he realized they were in a trove of teeth, hoarded like a dragon's mountains of gold.

There in the center of the molten light sat something with long, spidery limbs, the face stretched out as if someone had grabbed the roots of the hair and the chin and pulled, beetle black eyes peering through the papery dry skin of a mummy. The white coat and the beautifully perfect white teeth were luminous in the dark, lips drawing back in a smile. Taharka was kneeling on the floor at the creature's feet, head down, like a General returning to his Caesar. Strewn about them were mutant bodies, their mouths bloody and eyes vacant, cast aside like dirty clothes. They were all that was left of the contingent Taharka had sent for his hostage no doubt.

Draped over the demon's lap was a little form made scrawny by starvation. The sun browned arms and legs dangled like a boneless doll's, folded in tattered rags perhaps once a pink dress. As the monster shifted Dredd spotted the pliers in its spindly fingers with bulging joints. A little face lolled towards him, a terrible burn healing on one side, mouth bloody, eyes glassy. Dredd's rage came in ice rather than fire.

Radkov's friend Sorcha's daughter. Two shots rang out a millisecond apart, and both his and Anderson's shot was destroyed with a high pitched shriek of energy. The demon chuckled like a car accident, turning the bloody molar over in his pliers before adding it to a silver tray with the others. Taharka rose from his kneeling position and turned around to face them.

"He will come soon Warlord," the demon intoned carefully, voice garbling deep in its throat like there was water caught in its lungs.

"Let the woman pass. The others don't matter," Taharka instructed. Dredd was jerked suddenly to one side, skeletal fingers pulling on one leg. He turned his Lawgiver on the toothless skeleton trying to scream as it anchored him. The bones in its skull shattered but two more sprang up to replace it.

The devil checked the girl's mouth, jerking her head about. A faint moan of agony sounded. Anderson emptied her clip at the creature. The bullets seemed to catch in its flesh before the papery skin consumed them. It flashed another smile at her and then shoved the girl out of its lap like a used napkin. She hit the ground and lay as she had fallen, unmoving. Dredd was still struggling to free himself of the grasping skeletons.

"I have currency," Devon shouted, jerking his arm free and tearing back the cloth sleeve to expose the strung teeth. Those beetle black eyes fixed on the lion man and the toothless skeletons settled for holding Devon prisoner rather than smothering him. In a final heave Dredd managed to jerk the bandana free of the side pouch and display it. His skeletons too settled like lead weights, restraining rather than pulling.

"We will barter in a moment," the monster smiled. "And you woman? Have you brought me an offering?"

"Taharka, you have been Judged," Anderson said, her voice filled with the authority of a war goddess over the Lawgiver. "And the sentence is death. You beast, I will deal with you in due course." The monster chortled. Dredd struggled again but his imprisoning skeletons held fast. Taharka stepped forward smiling.


	17. In the Bone Orchard

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Judge Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N: **Well, make me a happy birthday kid and write me a review!

Chapter 17: In the Bone Orchard

The world here was dust and cobwebs, ruled by the monstrosity in a white coat. Mountains of teeth expanded out around them, crunching under her boots as Anderson took her Lawgiver in both hands, squared up, and emptied the clip. As before Taharka's psychic ability seared upwards, deflecting or shredding the bullets with such intense frequencies they were tangible. She didn't care about the wasted ammunition. Rather she was interested in the flex and power of his abilities, feeling it contract and twist like a muscle as her telepathy slithered like creeping vines over his defenses. He smirked, amused. Let him be amused. All she wanted to know was what he could do.

"Little girl," Taharka smiled, purring the words with the malice of unhealthy interest. The sound of them ran down her skin like fingers, cold like the rest of this endless darkness in the kingdom of teeth. She could vaguely see the burnished outlines of the real world marking out boundaries in ember and shadow but the image of this encroaching place was becoming more and more real.

"Demon," she returned, feeling the perfectly impregnable walls of steel around his mind. That was alright. She had a philosophical understanding of how to go about breaking it. She just needed the right moment, a moment when he was unbalanced. That would be difficult in their strange surroundings with Dredd and Devon snared so close by.

"Teeth creature, in exchange for the safety of my companions for this duel," Anderson glanced once at the monster. Its smile twisted its brown papery face, stick-and-nob fingers twisting.

"Don't be rash," Dredd admonished, bones clattering as he tried to shake off his keepers.

"Done," he agreed gleefully. A wraith pulled Wynne's bandanna from Anderson's leg, the face made out of block-shapes and distorted bulges that sank the golden eyes so far back in the head they were little more than sparks. It scuttled away on its arms, legs missing, screeching a laugh as it deposited the bandana in its master's hand and then climbed up to the back of a throne of skulls studded with teeth of all sorts, even tusks, and jeered at her like a howler monkey.

Behind her a pale sheen of energy the color of cataracts curved up around her companions. Anderson didn't look but sank into Devon's awareness to ensure it was true. Taharka launched a volley of power at them, teeth and hunks of earth thrown like shrapnel in its wake. But rather than destroy it splashed against the macabre shield like a wave on sturdy rock.

"Now you can focus?" Taharka demanded, stepping towards her.

His mind was shielded like metal so Anderson turned her will into ice. She took her basis, the blueprint for its frigid intensity, from the rage in Dredd. His mind usually roiled like the planet's core, working systematically to channel and focus in a plan. But for now it was so crystal clear and sharp in fangs of exact, razor edged direction he practically froze her clear through. Anderson couldn't see his plans without passing into his thoughts but she had no need of them. She was interested only in the feel of his thoughts, the unparalleled intensity of them. Miming their feel, drawing her own icy resolve to destroy both creatures in the cavern with her, she reached for Taharka's mind and coated it the absolute freezing of her will. He jerked back as she let that cold seep down through his defenses, slowing his thoughts, making them brittle.

Energy lashed towards her in a screaming spray of rock and bone. It was wild and powerful. She threw herself and rolled out of the way, darting forward and left to avoid the next blast. All the while her will kept to work like ice, seeping through his defenses with residual cold. His focus was wavering. He'd never fought someone like her before.

It excited him.

His eyes were bright and wide as sound waves zigzagged towards her erratically. Anderson danced aside, pulling off beautiful shots he had to deflect, buying herself time to get her feet without breaking her concentration.

"Oh girl, what _fun_ we'll have," Taharka snarled with unadulterated joy. He abandoned the use of his psychic ability except to defend against her shots and moved towards her with long, determined strides. His hands uncurled, reaching for her.

"High Ex!" she shouted, heard the Lawgiver shift over, and emptied her clip at him. Each shot made him stagger back, pushing he and his defenses away. As he struggled to reorient himself she wasted no time drawing the lawgiver back and slamming it against the side of his face, putting him on the ground. Her heel snapped down but he was out of the way already. Without so much as a curse she reloaded and lunged away from an ill placed sound wave. It was noticeably weaker. Taharka shook his head, tried once more and his shot went so wide Anderson didn't even have to move.

"Beautiful," he nodded. "You'll be terrible in a few years. My time won't have been wasted in a deal with the Sisters."

"Armor piercing," Anderson commanded and pulled the trigger. The bullets boomed against Taharka's defenses as he approached again, one even grazing his side, another punching clean through his shoulder but he didn't stop. "Bolt," she growled. Taharka seemed to recognize this shot for his eyes narrowed and he gathered all of his will and focus beneath the sheets of ice building on his mental walls and sent it after her. Anderson got the shot off and threw herself out of the way.

As she got back to her feet Taharka had suddenly come down close to her and his boot connected with the wrist of her recently broken arm, a crack echoing in the room as pain sent stars through her vision. He took her by the throat and hauled her to her feet, his face alive with something that almost looked like lust. The skin of his hand against her neck solidified their connection and she forced her telepathy to mimic his powers, extending one tendril of thought full of friction and vibrations to touch on the brittle metal and its coating of ice.

Taharka gave a cry of pain and dropped her as his mental shields shattered. Anderson landed on her feet and wasted no time plunging into his mind like a bolt of lightning, sinking deep into his tumultuous thoughts. She moved deeper and deeper, shaking off his internal defenses unaccustomed to such an assault.

With an animal shout Taharka sprang up, his mind twisting like an eel out of her total control. He crashed into her, throwing her against the ground and pinning her as she struggled desperately in his head, clawing and tearing. The warlord's smile was mad, his eyes bright.

Dredd was shouting something at her, struggling as Devon raged against the cataract shields that kept his will imprisoned at the same time it protected him from Taharka's. Anderson's vision blurred as Taharka's hands constricted on her throat, seemingly unperturbed as she flung memory after memory at him and tried to pull him into his own mind. He was too strong for that and she wasn't versed enough against such defenses to trick him, try as she might.

At the feet of the tooth collector something stirred. A ghastly smoke rose from the small body left there. It kept low and Anderson couldn't help but watch it, sensing its confusion as it opened the molten gold eyes of one dead. She looked around and as she realized she was there before her killer Anderson felt the silent scream for vengeance.

_'Help me and I will help you,'_ Anderson projected. The specter whipped around to stare at her almost accusingly. _'Here is the one that brought you to the one that killed you.'_

She unraveled into mist. Rippling over the ground like a sudden, very tiny flood she bolted up Taharka's back and resolved into a shape again, tiny face contorted in rage. Grabbing handfuls of hair she jerked his head back and though she had lost her teeth her phantom gums came down on his throat and the skin burned with cold. Taharka reared back in sudden shock. Lawgiver too far away Anderson jabbed her good fist into the warlord's throat, unseating him and freeing herself. She reached into her belt and extracted the glass vial of acidic water from the Green River. Tearing the metal cap free she dumped it on his face as he shook off the little specter.

Taharka's mind went limp in the sudden agony. Anderson dove in and pinned him, tying him up in his sins, drenching him in the bloody memories of his conquests. He lay catatonic, wrapped up in a nightmare of death that she distorted and warped, intensifying moments in his childhood cloaked in violence that had scared him. She in the mean time collected her Lawgiver calmly.

"Standard," she commanded as she turned. Her left was not her dominant hand but she had trained like many cadets to be ambidextrous for just such an event as her firing arm being injured. Sighting down her arm, heedless of their almost absolute connection and the potential effects it might have on her own mind, she pulled the trigger and the back of Taharka's stricken head splattered. His body twitched once and went still.

His final thoughts hadn't soaked through her like wine in a carpet. Rather she felt coated in them for the grisly business of invoking and twisting them, damaging the memories and freezing them in permanent nightmares it would take weeks to sort through. Anderson let it go as the tiny girl specter slithered up her leg with a warning hiss and curled her cold, tangible arms around Anderson's neck. There wasn't time to wonder as bone fingers with spongy tissue still clinging to them took her chin and turned her around.

"Beautiful..." whispered the eyeless skull fringed in limp shanks of pale hair. Anderson's eyes widened and her pupils constricted as fear gripped her. Another cold presence came up behind her, bone arms and soggy flesh pressing against her back, the sharp angle of a jaw perching on her shoulder. The little wraith with her squirmed.

"Yes," whispered the one from behind. "Such beautiful, raw potential."

Anderson let out a pained gasp as needles of ice ran through her entire body. And suddenly she was free. The mountains of teeth had vanished, the dark spaces, the blue light and the alternative ghostly confines of her fire and shadowed world. She could move, breathe easy in a perfect void of a serenity she had never before encountered. It was silent and still around her.

Sleep. She was so tired. Not now, but she would be. She would crave slumber and yet there was a nattering in the back of her head, like a room mate that wouldn't be silent. At the same time she felt this was incorrect, something apart from the present. She _would _sleep, and she would remain asleep far longer than she wished. And someone would be there with her, a presence dark and cold, twisted and corrupt whispering through her mind.

The darkness peeled away to expose the brilliance of a high noon in the Cursed Earth, murderous sunlight over the baked ground. And shambling was another corpse beneath a wide brimmed hat. And though he was a corpse she knew him for what he was, rage and control, lost in the desert. She reached forward with a pale arm bereft of the burns that had plagued her and tried to run to him. As she approached she passed through him, heart aching and hot tears burning down her cheeks.

"_No, not one of them. Not you!"_ she pleaded as the monster turned, only his savaged lower jaw visible beneath the brim of the hat. _"Not you!"_ her voice echoed. The creature didn't quite hear, his presence familiar and elusive, made alien by its own forgetfulness. She crawled towards him and reached again for his leg, fingers passing through. He seemed perplexed.

"Who's there?" he searched the surrounding area. From this angle she couldn't see anything but a mangled jaw and the rags he wore.

"_Here!" _she begged. _"Look at me! See me! I'm here! Know me!"_ Something took hold of her, pulling he back. The creature turned away before she could see its ruined face, shaking off her calls as though she was little more than a remembered voice. _"No!"_ she reached but the image began to run like melting paint.

And everything was still. Silent. Only there was no blackness this time. It was a block in the city, in _her_ city. She knew it by the sky scrapers and the roads, the decaying technology suffering from neglect in a city too full of bodies in discord. Expanding herself she sought anything familiar, reached for the minds that inhabited it.

They were there, but not as she knew them. There was something warm about the living, colorful and vivacious even when in despair and pain. Here there was only the blue silver mist rising up from a suddenly boiling pavement. They teemed out of the asphalt and cement, crawling for her with hungry expressions and winking golden eyes. Like a tide from all sides they converged on her, crying and wailing, angry, desperate, sinking into her skin in search of warmth and memory beyond the thoughts that trapped them in the too still city.

_Sleep_, she realized. Her duty was to lay with a monster. Take him to bed, curl around him, house him, occupy him. She must do this or the city would perish, and then more cities would follow. The colors and patterns in Roanoke, the staunch women of Salem, Amanirenas and her jealously guarded paradise, the Gitaskog with its acid resistant coils and penchant for goats, and worlds she had no knowledge of would perish. A sacrifice was her duty and she must learn how to make it or suffer the death of all those around her.

Thunder ripped through her head and suddenly she was back in a room painted in red shadows. Her eyes opened and she saw a stubbly throat she recognized because she knew the anger and control. She was draped against him like a conquest, neck boneless. His usual grimace had turned into a snarl.

"You're alright," she blinked in confusion. His head tilted just slightly towards her but he didn't look away from his aim, one hand clamped around her shoulder like iron talons. He had the smell of burnt leather and she realized smoke curled up around him. The tooth collector laughed and Anderson sat up stiffly. Dredd remained hunched behind her, one of his shoulders pressed against the middle of her back as his Lawgiver fixed on the demon.

Lounging on the Tooth Collector's throne were both skeleton maidens in various states of decay. Metal hung from their chests, eerily reminiscent of a Judge's badge. Phobia and Nausea the tarnished badges read, both framing the Tooth Collector. Anderson grasped her Lawgiver and raised it, fighting back disorientation and the pressure of Taharka's cloying memories.

A high pitched shriek sounded as the little girl's spirit lifted before them. She took an agonized look at Anderson, her expression begging for help, before she was sundered by whatever fell powers the grisly trio possessed.

"How long before he arrives?" the Tooth Collector asked.

"Moments," whispered Phobia.

"Not long," Nausea murmured at the same time.

As one Dredd and Anderson let loose a barrage of firepower that should have destroyed everything there. Teeth ricocheted off every surface near them, flowering explosions and jittering electricity. When the dust and bone shaving settled the grim trio remained reclining as if nothing had happened.

"She'll please him," Nausea said, her laughter rich and subtle from an unholy throat.

"He'll like her," Phobia agreed.

"No," Devon snarled behind them. Anderson twisted around to look at him, his clothing ripped and bloodied, skeletal limbs dangling like grasping ornaments. "He won't have the chance."

_'Devon!'_ Anderson called with her mind, feeling the terrible tide gathering in him. His lion eyes made no move towards her but she felt the passing warmth of friendly affection like a spring breeze. _'Devon stop!'_

_Tell Wynne I love her,_ he instructed in a thought wrapped so brilliantly in feeling it was like seeing color for the first time. Anderson ached with the raw magnificence of that feeling, choked and liberated at once. She held onto him, burrowed into his nerves and synapses, her every fiber pleading he stop a terrible act he was about to commit without fully understanding what exactly he meant to do.

Phobia, Nausea, and the Tooth Collector all drew up, suddenly agitated. They were leaning forward to spring, nightmare creatures drawing in for an attack, but Devon was too much as all that strength buried in him welled to the surface of his soul. Anderson screamed objection voicelessly as Devon seemed to come undone, his body bleaching of all color as light radiated out of him in a violent burst of destructive emotion. Whirled sickeningly Anderson's mind hung onto his, clinging to him in adamant refusal.

In a perfect connection she had never felt before, the utter sense of place and belonging with another, she felt Devon seek a fractional moment's comfort in commiseration. And then with gentle determination he shook her free and vanished.

Anderson's ears popped and exposed her to silence. The air was stuffy and dark. A light gleamed on, caused by a contraction of muscle and a shifting body behind her. She turned and saw the edge of Dredd's face, the feel of him following with the stern set of his chin. Her mind groped but there was nothing but utter silence here. It was the silence of death, of a severed connection.

"They're gone," she said, her voice muffled in the tight, stuffy enclosure of the grotto.

"What happened?"

"Devon purged the connection," she answered, struggling to keep tremors and thickness from her voice. "Emotion, memories...the pieces of the soul...he purged this place of that, broke their hold here. The stones will remember, but those things won't cross back here..." as she spoke she felt something slide along the other side, a searching presence like stale breath and talons. Her heart fluttered with its proximity but the division between worlds held. And for a time, it would continue to hold. The time had not yet come for her to meet this creature she realized. Soon, but not yet.

Dredd's flashlight swept the area in search of Devon. It was only they two left alone. They waited crouched together for a long few moments, poring over the emptiness around them. Finally Dredd rose stiffly to his full height. The burned leather of his uniform and a raw spot on his chin marked him as wounded, much more so than he let on. As she got to her feet Anderson saw the scars in the earth from where he must have blasted himself free of the imprisoning skeletons to get to her.

She considered asking him if she might dull the pain, block some of the receptors in his mind. It was a foolish suggestion she realized almost immediately, trying not to notice the slight limp as he took a few steps back towards the exit.

"He's not here," Dredd looked back at her, helmet sooty.

"No," she shook her head. "Over there."

"Can we get to him?"

"No," she replied, seeking some fray in the fabric of reality. "I can't find it...the way back. He closed it too tight."

"Its time to go then," Dredd answered after a few heartbeats. "Taharka is dead. There's nothing left for us here Anderson." He gestured at one of the two corpses left. Securing his flashlight to his belt he limped slightly as he made his way to the bloodied rag doll child. He scooped her up, a paper-thin waif in his arms. Anderson looked away as she fought off a scream of enraged frustration, of despair, of defeat. They'd lost this round.

There would be another, and God help her but she would serve Justice.

* * *

Both Judges had made it up in the darkness to the old shoreline where the bikes were placed. Anderson stopped beside Devon's bike, staring down at it with empty eyes. Like all Judges she had been taught never to cry but just because salty tears didn't make their way down her cheeks didn't mean she wasn't grieving. He could see it in the working muscles of her jaw and the hesitant way she reached out and put her hand down on the handlebars. Her face lifted and she looked up towards the west, the last light of day fading from her sun burns.

"They're here sir," she reported softly.

"Judge Dredd do you copy?" fizzed the abused radio at his side. Anderson came and took it so he wouldn't have to jostle the slight corpse in his arms.

"We're here 'Berg," Anderson answered, just as the hummer pulled over the ridge.

"Everything okay?"

"Taharka has been eliminated," Anderson replied flatly. The hummer had barely ground to a halt when the door popped open and Wynne burst free, stumbling a little and struggling to brace herself despite the broken ankle. She searched them and looked beyond. Anderson stalked gravely ahead and the Murugan watched her approach. The two women stood staring at each other and then the Murugan reached out and put her hands on either side of Anderson's face, bringing their foreheads close. Something passed between them, a psychic dialogue that wracked Wynne and brought her to her knees.

Rosenberg hopped out and trotted over to Anderson first as Wynne settled and stared vacantly ahead. Tears were rolling out of her mutant eye, the human one closed tight against them. Radkov got out too and his initial interest was Anderson but he glanced at Dredd and did a double take.

The Tek made his way to Dredd with growing horror tightly contained in his face. He reached out with shaking hands and took the girl from Dredd. She lolled against him, not quite as boneless as she'd been when the Judge had collected her. Radkov's breath struggled through him.

"Tamara," he breathed, pressing his face against her filthy forehead. "Oh Tama..."

"Load up. We need to get back to Salem," Dredd instructed the bereaved group. Anderson knelt and pulled Wynne's arm over her shoulder. The Murugan made no sign that she understood what was happening, only allowed herself to be guided along back into the hummer where Anderson handed her up to Rosenberg. Radkov swayed on his feet, biting back on grief. When he could he turned away and moved to the truck with his lightweight burden.

Anderson came back to Devon's bike. With a little work and a wince at the use of her newly broken arm she got it started with some of its wiring as she did not possess the keys.

"You should ride in the hummer or behind me," Dredd advised.

"I'll be alright," she answered, throwing a leg over the bike. Very carefully she positioned her right hand on the corresponding grip and eased the throttle to move herself forward. It must have been painful but she pretended it didn't matter. He considered objecting but her color was coming back into her face and her grip settled more securely on the throttle. Perhaps it was a mental trick to block pain. It would follow she would have the capacity.

The miserable caravan left the Valley of Hearts behind without a backward glance. In contrast Dredd seemed to feel it yearning for them. Something hounded him, told him it wasn't the end. He would have to ask Anderson about it later.

Night swallowed them up, illuminated by a waning moon. A few cries went up around the pass they'd destroyed earlier that day but nothing stopped to bother them. They made good time despite the treacherous terrain, headlights cutting sure golden lines across the blue and silver landscape. Cold stars glittered over them as impersonal as spilled diamonds. The grim band finally reached Salem a few hours before dawn. Anderson came to a halt at the edge of town and the convoy followed.

"What is it?" Dredd asked, glancing at her arm.

"I can't go into town just yet," Anderson answered. "Not right now."

"Why?" he asked. She tapped the side of her head.

"Emotions will be high and this will run amok. I don't mind so much coping with everyone else's thoughts but I won't have enough control to keep out of yours and the Teks'. My control's wearing thin."

Dredd couldn't begrudge her the utter fatigue that must have gripped her. After everything that had happened in the last few days her present feats were remarkable. He glanced around them, the cliff protecting the south side of town a monolithic, dark presence, wisps of smoke indicating some fires were still burning in hearths.

"There's an old cabin closer to the Green," Radkov leaned out the window. "Its falling apart but you'll get some cover. Half a mile from town should be safe right?"

"That should be fine," she nodded.

"I'll...Maura's a great cook. I'll bring you something for breakfast once my duties are done, Judge Anderson." He grabbed something inside the truck and extended a few extra clips.

"Thank you," she nodded, her voice carefully neutral as she accepted the ammunition. The door opened and Wynne staggered out. She flung a leg over the back of Devon's bike, securing herself behind Anderson. Dredd's muscles tightened. What had passed between them?

"Take the radio," Dredd passed it to her. Anderson secured it, gave him a nod, and then pulled away in the direction of the cabin Radkov had pointed out.

Dredd allowed himself to follow their progress a few seconds before he resumed the lead and brought the hummer into town. Doors opened at their arrival, people moving onto the porches. He wasn't psychic but he could see their surprise and the ensuing wild hope. Rosenberg swapped him for the lead and took them into the middle of town to a house with a porch where a one-legged man perched on his crutch watching them. Once Radkov was out of the truck Dredd immediately recognized the older man as the Tek's father.

"Taharka and Sunakarib are dead," Radkov stated.

"Sorcha's daughter?" his father asked. Radkov shifted the bundle he was carrying and moonlight splashed down on the little girl's bloodless face. There was a wail of despair nearby and a man rushed forward. The goatherd gathered up his little girl, collapsing in a heap and rocking back and forth. Where Mega City One would have rejoiced at the overall victory Salem mourned the final cost.

Radkov helped his friend inside the big house and practically half the town squeezed in after them. Rosenberg stood with one hand on the hummer as the rest of the town crowded on the porch.

"Rosenberg!" called a woman's voice. Dredd turned and watched a little creature with wheat blond hair come racing up to him. "Rosenberg, are you alright?"

"Fine Enyo."

"I'm so glad you're okay. Did everyone else make it out?"

"We lost Devon," he shook his head.

"I'm...I'm so sorry. Was it a good death?" Rosenberg stared at her uncomprehendingly. Enyo searched his face in earnest.

"He died a hero," Dredd provided at last. Enyo glanced to him and nodded. Tentatively she reached out and put a hand on Rosenberg's arm. She curled her fingers in a grip and pulled him along.

"Come on Rosenberg. You must be tired. We'll get you something to eat and somewhere to rest."

"I have to – "

"We'll meet at 0700 tomorrow at the cabin," Dredd shook his head. Rosenberg looked at him searchingly, Enyo pulling on his arm. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we'll contact Control and update Ecks."

"Sir," Rosenberg nodded. Enyo pulled him away and Dredd turned towards the crowded house where voices were beginning to murmur into a hymn of some sort. Wearily Dredd made his way up the steps and into a sea of sharp elbows and hungry frames. With gentle pushes he managed to shoulder through the crowd until he found Radkov leaning against a wall with a pale expression. A much younger version of himself sat at his feet, knees drawn up with wet cheeks watching the preparations of a wake there in the living room. Sorcha was crying, his other daughter thrown across his lap in despair.

"Radkov, 0700 tomorrow at the cabin," Dredd informed him. The Tek looked up.

"Sir, there's a spare bed," he motioned over his shoulder. Dredd shook his head.

"I've got some things to go over with Anderson."

Radkov held up a finger as he pushed off the wall, indicating he should wait. He disappeared into another room, swimming through bodies. When he returned he had a bundle of blankets in one hand and a metal box with a handle in the other. He handed them over.

"Blankets, dinner, and some extra medical supplies."

"Anything for sun burns?" Dredd asked. Radkov nodded. "0700 tomorrow."

"I'll swing by later tonight with a real dinner," he vowed. Dredd only gave him a nod and waded back out through the bodies with the provisions under each arm.

The ride to the cabin was uneventful until he spotted a great fire burning. He twisted the throttle and raced towards it, recognizing as he approached that it was Devon's bike burning, the metal warping. There were no bodies in the flames or flung across the ground, no signs of attack. As he reached the bonfire he spotted a small, dark figure sitting with her back to the squat remains of a chimney. She reclined with her wounded arm resting on one bent knee, firelight reflecting in eyes like obsidian in the primal light.

"Wynne's down by the river smoking," Anderson murmured, eyes never leaving the bonfire. "The Gitaskog's close by so predation will be elsewhere."

Dredd killed the engine and swung off the bike stiffly. He made a pointed effort not to limp. Using High-Ex rounds so close to himself had been risky but it had paid off barring the bone shrapnel peppering his back and side and the twist in his leg from the fall. At the time the pain hadn't crossed his mind, only the need to get to Anderson before the skeleton women finished whatever they were doing to her. He sat down next to her, wondering what that fight had looked like to her, what exactly it meant to hear a mind fall silent in death.

"How's your control?" he asked.

"Its easy here. Wynne's got shields and the Gitaskog doesn't care, so yours are the only thoughts I have to block. Avoiding your thoughts are easier than recoiling into my own head and keeping my own walls up."

"I always thought it was something you'd have to reach out to do," Dredd reflected.

"No. I had to train it that way. Growing up it was like I was a receiver and everyone was transmitting."

"I need to understand some of what happened down there," Dredd said after a moment. Anderson just nodded without a visible reaction. "Do you know what that place was?"

"I've never seen anything like that before," she shook her head. "Those things in the mist, they weren't minds. They were...it was like they were memories given form. There's the feel of a living mind and then there's the sensation of just a memory. And that place seemed to gather them. There was so much energy, power, and it wasn't ours. It was different from the energies here." Anderson fell silent for a moment. "Wynne said that thing was the Devil. He wasn't. He was twisted, hideous, but he was mortal once."

"How do you figure?"

"He had the mind of a serial killer, the little I could get at," she turned from the fire to look at him now, throwing half her face in shadow. "Those women were closer to supernatural creatures, but they were human once too. But for all their malice, I was more worried about the thing we just missed when Devon did what he did._ That_ was powerful."

"Human once?"

"Barely," she shook her head. Anderson looked back at the fire but Dredd kept his eyes fixed on her profile, the way resolve made her cold.

"What of it?" he prodded.

"That thing _will_ find its way here." Her voice was calm.

"Did it say so?"

"I saw it...pieces of it. Saw Mega City One in its power like the cave."

"When those skeleton women had you?"

"Yes," she nodded, carefully lifting her wounded arm and settling it across her stomach. Her bent leg slid through the dirt so both legs were straightened before her. "Maybe it was just a piece of their plans, a glimpse in their heads and I didn't understand it. But there's a pit in my stomach like I know its true."

"How long?"

"Too soon," Anderson shrugged as her eyebrows lifted in an expression of jaded ignorance. Her mouth quirked in a world weary smile. "Watch yourself. I'm sure I saw you somewhere in their plans." Dredd cocked his head to one side and her smile got wider. He recognized it as a cover for internal turmoil.

To her credit Anderson smothered her reactions, fragments of fear, grief, rage and hate all flashing through her eyes before they receded back into superficial serenity. She couldn't quite muster her usual disposition of good humor and general hope, thoughts sliding around behind her neutral expression and making the faintest furrow in her brow.

Dredd got up, suppressing a groan. The horizon was blushing with dawn. He pulled the metal box from his bike and brought it back to Anderson, sitting down in an excruciating refusal to appear wounded. Flipping the latches open he set the cold cut sandwiches in the lid and pulled out splints and gauze. Radkov had been paying attention.

Anderson pulled the zipper on her Kevlar vest down and managed to shirk it before squirming with more difficulty out of her gloves and the top of her leather jumpsuit. Her wrist was swollen to about the size of an orange and purple with bruising beneath the slightly less angry maroon sunburns of her recent training. It must have been miserable to move.

Dredd watched her press her lips together as he sought the extent of the damages. It was definitely somewhere in the actual wrist joint. He opened a palm wide container with a screw top labeled with tape and marker "sunburns", offering her the pasty, sticky substance inside. Anderson scooped some fingers in it and bit back on a hiss as she worked it into the injured arm. When she'd done that he set the splint just so and wrapped the wrist so it at least would be still until they could reach proper medical attention. She slathered herself in the goop when he was done and then took the medical supplies, rooting through it.

"If you turn around I can probably get those bone slivers out of you," she extracted a pair of tweezers. Her skin was shiny with the salve. Most of the bone shrapnel had stuck in his Kevlar vest but the armor had done nothing to shield him from the heat of Sunakarib's fire. He was in need of at least basic medicine lest the wounds get infected. Relenting he removed his vest and the top of his coveralls in the same fashion she had and put his back to her. She made no comment over the ravaged work of heat or the blisters there, just quietly pulled slivers of bone shrapnel out of him. They gathered in a little pile until she passed him the tweezers and set him the task of getting at his leg. She also made no remark that his helmet remained firmly in place, even as she hoisted the back of his undershirt up and out of the way to salve up the skin below.

Dredd suited back up when she was through, Anderson shooting the sky a baleful glare before painfully shimmying back into her coveralls. The bike pyre was burning low as she settled comfortably again against the ruined chimney.

Wynne arrived about then, limping around the house. She didn't even bother to look at Dredd, just settled down on Anderson's other side. She smelled like Devon's pipe smoke, hair in disarray, still covered in the grime of the battle two days ago. Deep bags swept beneath her haunted eyes. As there was nothing that could be said to lift the spirits of his demoralized companions Dredd simply pulled the medical box closer and passed out the cloth wrapped sandwiches. He also cracked open a thermos containing lukewarm tea.

As they ate in silence Dredd could hear the slosh of a great body moving through the Green. It splashed a bit before Anderson flicked a glance that way and it fell quiet, replaced by the soft slither of scales on dirt. The Gitaskog emerged, scales shimmering in the early light. There were fresh scales and crooked ones, some discolored. It looked like it had been in a fight. Lowering its head with an almost canine glance at Anderson, she gave it a nod and its body coiled behind it without lifting its head. And there it settled like a great watch dog, eyes half shut as it basked, great tongue flickering out of its lips every so often.

"Rest," Wynne instructed after a while. She got up and limped restlessly towards the Gitaskog. The creature's coils shifted slightly as the Murugan scaled them until she was able to stretch out along the topmost of the pile, Devon's pipe between her teeth unlit. Tucking her good arm behind her head she gazed straight up into the sky, a prisoner of her sleepless thoughts. Dredd glanced at Anderson and saw her head tipped back against the stones, eyes shut, expression blissfully untroubled.

Confident that Wynne wouldn't abandon them to the wild Dredd leaned back too and closed his eyes for the first time in what felt like days. It was less than a minute before he was unconscious.

* * *

**A/N: **There's one more chapter after this one guys, so don't give up on me yet! I couldn't wait to get this one up so I didn't. I was much too excited. XD


	18. Boundaries

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N:** Thank you all for sticking with me through this! Its been a pleasure! And extra props to Speakfire for suggesting the cover! Also, I will begin posting the sequel probably about next Thursday US time. Not sure on the title yet, but keep your eyes peeled. You guys are just too much fun to write for!

Chapter 18: Boundaries

Dredd didn't have to wait long outside the tall, corrosive grasses. The ground rumbled and the plants seemed to slither away, opening a wide passage for him to enter the small paradise of cool spring water and luscious plant life. He eased the salvaged Lawmaster through, finally accustomed to its lightness and increased maneuverability. As he passed beneath the boughs of fruit trees offering refuge from the relentless sun the poisoned grasses slithered back into place, closing the way behind him.

In a few moments along a well worn path he parked the Lawmaster near a small, mounded house covered in creeping vines and tall flowers in an array of colors. Dismounting he made his way past the house and along the stone lined path towards the small spring where the plants opened out into a well kept lawn.

The Gitaskog's head was resting on the dock Rosenberg had rebuilt on their second or third day as guests, great eyes half shut as it attended the pair of women seated opposite each other. Anderson was quietly shelling peas in a fired clay bowl, eyes on her work beneath a dark fringe of lashes. Though she still sat in full sunlight with the barest tan lines her creamy skin was unblemished, heavy layers of sun screen making her shine like she was freshly painted – a stipulation he had insisted upon when they'd returned to Amanirenas. In her well worn training garments with her legs folded calmly she could have been just relaxing.

Beatrice Amanirenas however was sweating profusely nearby, half crouched, the toned muscles in her dark arms with their patched scales clenched. Her clothes were sullied in grass stains and dirt, drenched and smeared with mud. Dredd watched a sudden burst of vines race towards Anderson. The young Judge didn't even shift and the vines changed trajectory and slammed against Amanirenas.

"Enough!" the woman called as the vines went limp and then slithered back. The witch sat up panting as Anderson looked up with a smile. "Have you even moved all day?"

"I went and got more peas," she tipped the bowl to show Amanirenas her efforts. The dark woman scrubbed sweat off her face.

"You've gotten very good at altering my perception," she shook her head. "I've done nothing but beat myself up this last week."

"I think its fair," Anderson replied. "How was town?" she looked up at Dredd.

"Orderly. Its time to head back," he replied. Anderson got up with the bowl of shelled peas under one arm, offering the other hand to Amanirenas. Judges were all muscle in general but Anderson had put on a sort of muscle that didn't come from regular training to maintain a suitable level of athleticism. Hers had become an animal stamina. Amanirenas insisted that the work of psychic powers required a physical fitness norms wouldn't understand and had put Anderson through a level of punishment Dredd knew very few Judges could have endured.

"You need to remember that you know me very well now," Amanirenas lectured as the pair of them made their way back towards the house, Dredd bringing up the rear. "That means you're familiar with the byways in my thinking, the way I apply logic and how I problem solve. You will not have that advantage over others that you meet so don't be overconfident."

Anderson nodded as a string of advice followed, holding the door for her limping instructor and he too. Once inside Anderson continued to respond as she pulled on her street gear minus the helmet lost in the Valley of Hearts somewhere. She gathered her one little bag and Amanirenas fell silent, staring at the young woman whose uniform fit differently now, a little too big for her. Anderson tied the top half of her hair out of the way, her bangs in need of a trim.

"When you first came here I was sure I could break you," Amanirenas said after a moment. Anderson smiled faintly.

"Most people are," she answered.

"There are nightmares waiting in that city, and that city will never be impressed that you do not shatter. It will only wait for you to become broken and then it will send in one like him to dispose of you," Amanirenas pointed at Dredd as the senior Judge sought a flaw in the witch's logic. Sadly he found no way to disprove what she said.

"I'm not looking for a place in the history books Beatrice," Anderson shook her head as she lifted her overnight bag. "Just to make things better where I can, even if its only for a short time and for the people with no power over history and her interpretations."

"So you will let them put you down like a dog as they see fit?"

"I'll just hope the job gets me before something like that happens," Anderson shrugged.

Amanirenas snorted and moved irritably towards one of her cellars. She rooted around in the dark room before finally emerging with a plate sized object wrapped in cloth. Her yellow eyes beneath their furrowed brow stared at the cloth before she unwrapped the parcel and displayed one of the Gitaskog's scales. She turned it over to expose scratches and dents, one edge of the oblong scale edged in burns, another scalloped by stress fractures.

"The Gitaskog can swim in a river of acid," she said, holding the scale out. "Because it secrets an oil to coat its scales, base enough to neutralize the effects of the acid. Even its resilience has its limits, a boundary line." Anderson took the scale reverently, turning it this way and that, running the tip of her glove along the damage marks. "There is a boundary between you and your city, between you and your orders, you and your powers. To cross it is to leave behind Cassandra Anderson for an endless hunger. That is what made Sunakarib, Taharka, your friend the Tooth Collector and the creature he was calling. Others may define you by telepathy but you must _never_ do so or destruction will follow as swiftly as the river would overcome the Gitaskog without his oils."

Anderson nodded without looking away from the scale. She held it back out but Amanirenas shook her head. Anderson wrapped the scale back up and then tucked it carefully in her bag. Her teacher gave her a long, hard look and then folded her hands and stepped back. The younger Judge lowered her head.

"Thank you," she said earnestly. Amanirenas simply turned away and Anderson accepted the dismissal. Both Judges made their way outside and the door closed forbiddingly behind them. Anderson didn't seem to mind the abrupt shut out.

Dredd settled on the bike. She secured her bag and made her way back to the dock. The Gitaskog gazed at her with what almost looked like sorrow in its luminous eyes. The psychic placed a hand on its nose and the pair of them communed. She seemed to impart some final command before the Gitaskog shook its great head and the scales bristled like feathers on an agitated bird. It cocked its head before the scales smoothed again and it nudged her in a canine expression of remorse.

"Remember, only the goats they leave you. Pick on the Gici Awas. They're a little more your size," she admonished before returning to Dredd and hopping on behind him. She was a little heavier with muscle despite the inches she'd lost around her waist. "I'm going to miss all these flowers," she sighed to him this time. There was nothing to be said to such an observation so he didn't offer an opinion one way or the other. Anderson again wasn't perturbed as he moved them carefully through Amanirenas' paradise, the bike rumbling beneath them. When they exited, the poisonous grass guarding the Green Witch's home slithered back in place forbiddingly for a final time. Dredd doubted either he or Anderson would ever make it back for a visit.

They arrived in town just at dusk, parking at Mayor Radkov's house as people filtered in from the fields and the smell of cook fires filled the night. Anderson got off first, bag slung over her shoulder as she moved with an easy grace up the steps on the porch and knocked on the door politely. Maura Radkov pulled it open, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Welcome back Judge Anderson," she smiled, stepping out of the way. "Judge Dredd," she nodded to him too when he entered. Dredd stopped off in the dining room while Anderson walked with the chattering Maura into the kitchen. He caught a glimpse of the metal chip Anderson still wore religiously for Al-Saayid back in MC1. No doubt the Tek would be beside himself with glee over the data there.

In a few short moments Radkov, Rosenberg, young Sava, and Yosef entered the room covered in grime and grease. The Teks had spent the last three weeks repairing solar panels, vehicles, generators, water heaters, and anything else mechanical or full of circuits they could find. At first strangers had trickled enthusiastically into Salem in search of the MC1 Teks' expertise. As word spread there was a deluge from Roanoke and smaller neighboring villages, some even venturing through irradiated stretches when news reached them of the specialized skills. Salem and her residents had made a killing putting travelers up, feeding them, and selling their wares.

"No did you see that thing?" Sava was asking his brother eagerly. "That clock was an antique! It was made of real wood!"

"I'm pretty sure it was synthetic," Radkov shook his head, the sly gleam in his eyes suggesting he was teasing the boy.

"No! I know the difference!" Sava insisted hotly. "It had actual grain."

"So does synthetic wood," Radkov pointed out. Sava snorted.

"Philistine," he shot at his brother who cracked a grin.

"Maura says you should wash up before you track in dirt," Anderson advised from the doorway of the kitchen. She'd stripped out of her gear and the sleeves of her coveralls were tied around her waist again. Sava's grin went wide and his face flushed scarlet.

"H-heya Judge Anderson," he said, trying to keep from showing every tooth in his head with delight. "You um, how was...did you get here okay?" he stammered uselessly as the men around him tried very hard not to laugh outright.

"It was a harrowing adventure but all my pieces made it," she shrugged. "Wash up and set the table?" she half asked. Sava was gone in a heartbeat towards the bathroom and Yosef laughed aloud.

"Witch," Radkov accused Anderson as she flung a damp towel at him. "He was a good kid before you corrupted his mind with impure thoughts," he peeled the towel away from his sweaty face and wiped his hands on it, grease and dirt coming away from his callused fingers.

"Says the man the better part of Salem is salivating over," she rebutted.

"Wrist seems like its doing okay," Rosenberg observed. "How were the last three weeks?"

"Tough," Anderson replied. "The sooner you wash the sooner we eat."

"You have man arms," Radkov accused and his father elbowed him.

"Wanna arm wrestle? Loser does the dishes," Anderson held up a hand.

"I'll do the dishes Judge Anderson," Sava announced upon his return. He'd even washed his face and slicked his hair back, changing into fresh clothes to minimize the effects of hard work. Anderson quirked an eyebrow at Radkov as the Tek rolled his eyes.

"You can also have the first round of desert," she answered. "Set the table would you?"

"Yes ma'am," Sava nodded eagerly, hurrying to do just that as Anderson went back into the kitchen.

"Harpy!" Radkov called after her. As the bustle increased in the dining room Dredd made his way onto the porch to keep out of the way. He surveyed the darkening streets and the fewer people hurrying home to dinner themselves.

"Good spirits in there," Wynne remarked. She didn't startle him. About five minutes earlier he'd smelled the pipe smoke drifting in through one of the windows.

"Made it to Roanoke and back fast," he remarked. Wynne shrugged a shoulder and smiled her feline grin, fingers tracing the carvings in the pipe. Dredd came and sat in one of the chairs close to her. In the dusk the pale skin of her burn scars stood out. It didn't change her style of dress at all. In fact she seemed to flaunt the healed up wounds, badges of victory.

"Your cut," she placed a pouch of coins on a small table between them. Dredd shook his head and her smile widened but she didn't reclaim it. "You could stay out here. Murugans don't live so bad."

"I'm a Judge," he replied. Wynne smirked, the pipe embers reflecting in her mutant eye.

"I'm going west," she remarked, lifting her long legs and crossing her heels on one of the porch rails. "I've heard a rumor about a man who grants wishes for molars." Dredd tilted his head at that. "Don't worry. I'll pay you a visit if he's more than a quack. Unless of course you wanted to see me sooner?"

The day after Wynne had set Devon's bike ablaze like a Viking funeral pyre she had been back to herself. A week later after lounging in the luscious flora of Amanirenas' sanctuary watching Anderson in her training Wynne was fully recovered – with the aide of some medication from Rosenberg – and she'd gone and pulled out papers for several bounties from her possessions. Dredd had accompanied her on four to pass the time, the four men convicted of murder. He could admit he respected her.

"Good luck," he replied instead. Wynne chuckled.

"Dinner," Anderson came out the screen door, closing it gently behind her.

"You look human," Wynne observed.

"I looked like the Gitaskog molting for a few days there," Anderson replied. "Are you eating?"

"No," Wynne tapped the ember out and ground it beneath her boot. She swung up and came towards Anderson, circling her once. The Murugan took a section of Anderson's hair between two fingers, tugging on it lightly before hooking it behind Anderson's ear. Both women stared at each other with some unreadable expression before Wynne rolled back onto her heels and smiled like a hyena. "There's something about you that makes me strange," she said. "I feel almost...like a monster." Her hand closed around Anderson's throat. The muzzle of Dredd's Lawgiver was pressed against the back of Wynne's head but neither woman acknowledged he'd moved.

"You might have better luck telling me I'm pretty," Anderson replied, hands folded calmly behind her. Wynne laughed.

"Is that what it is?" Her hand came away from Anderson's neck. "Its all so confusing." She turned and smiled wide and feral at Dredd. "Maybe it won't be you I come to visit." Wynne sauntered around behind Anderson again, running one finger along the telepath's shoulder. "Your skin is so nice I can almost feel it," the Murugan observed as Dredd tried to figure out what sort of power play was happening.

"You'd have to at least buy me dinner," Anderson stepped forward with a little crooked smile. Wynne chuckled and tipped her hat.

"I'll keep it in mind," the Murugan promised before walking down off the porch and swinging onto her bike. She didn't cast them a last look, just turned the engine over on the new vehicle and departed like a cowboy at the end of a film. Dredd looked to Anderson for an explanation but the psychic only raised her eyebrows enigmatically.

"Dinner?" she prompted.

It was a noisy affair, much like mess in the Academy with people in high spirits for their last night in Salem. Enyo had come in the back door while Dredd was on the porch and sat prettily next to Rosenberg while Sava in no uncertain terms put himself at Anderson's right hand. Radkov was forced onto her other side by his step mother who was less than subtle in expressing her yearnings for a daughter-in-law. Radkov bore this with significantly less vitriol than he would have a month ago while Anderson let allusions and hopes pass without much more than a well placed remark to rib her EOD expert. Dredd was dragged into a one sided conversation with Yosef about children and how fast they grew up in which his opinion wasn't needed, which suited him fine.

After the meal was noisily enjoyed Anderson helped Maura, Sava and Enyo clean up – performing the duties of Cursed Earth women without more than a wry smile – while Yosef dragged the two Teks into a game of cards which Dredd declined. Gambling was illegal in Mega City One outside particular establishments and even though laws here were different – barely contained anarchy on a good day – it would have been poor form in his opinion. Dredd inspected their things again before settling outside on the porch beyond the reach of noise.

At some point Enyo and Rosenberg slipped out the back door. Dredd had considered objecting to the relationship but he resolved it wasn't his business. The girl was of age at eighteen – Anderson had confirmed it – and Rosenberg was under no restrictions as far as his personal time went. Personally he thought it was foolish to get tangled up in so short a time but then they seemed to be professional about it.

"Hydrate," Anderson handed him a mug of tea before she settled down on the bench next to him after a while. The Radkov men were arguing over the cards through an open window. She had pulled her jumpsuit back into place to ward off the post sunset chill.

"You still doing my paperwork?" he asked.

"Of course. If you hadn't given me that idea on how to overcome Amanirenas then Taharka would have obliterated me," she nodded, crossing one leg and leaning back. She seemed older now. At the start of their mission she was still something of a rookie to him, though a formidable one. Now she carried in her the confidence of a seasoned Judge. He wondered if it was a consequence of the beasts they'd faced or the mastery over her innate skills. Either way it showed in her carriage and in the ease of her communication with him. He approved.

"What happens with Psi-Division when you get back?" Dredd asked. Anderson blew on her tea thoughtfully, eyes ranging over the dusty street before her.

"Interviews," she answered after a moment. "And probably some undercover work. Goodman as much as said there were criminal elements we hadn't been able to touch before this."

"What makes you think it'll be undercover?"

"Psychics know when you're rooting around in their heads, even if they're not telepaths. Our minds are organized differently. I'm not strong enough yet to just charge in and grab hold of a defensive mind like that. Besides, a subtle hand might get me more than one crime boss before Psi-Division's cover is blown and we're as well known as your Street Judges." She shot him a smile over the rim of her mug. "You?"

"Back on duty," he shrugged. He was surprised at himself, realizing he was curious to see how far and high Anderson might climb. At the same time she seemed more fragile than ever, an ethereal creature with powers beyond his understanding. That would make her suspect in everything she did, particularly to those who didn't put their back against hers and trust her in a fight. "Why wasn't an SJS officer assigned to Psi-Division?"

"Goodman," Anderson shrugged, her tone more restrained. "SJS wanted me as soon as someone realized what I was. Orders came down from the top I was not to be attached to SJS but to be trained as a Street Judge. I imagine there'll have to be one now that all this data is collected for Al-Sayid." She pulled the metal plate off the back of her head with a slimy peeling sound. Turning it over in her palm her eyes were unreadable. "Probably Slocum."

"Slocum is Cal's deputy."

"He's competent and loyal," Anderson nodded, her voice very carefully pleasant.

"But?" Dredd prompted.

"SJS is...murky." She stood up and blew out a silvery breath, pale blue in the moonless sky spattered with its breathtaking assortment of stars. "If they had their way I would be little more than a tool kept behind layers of electrical shielding, removed only when they wished to unravel another being. I understand the motivation but I can't quite commit myself to such a life."

Dredd wanted to think her opinion was harsh but he knew better. The laws were extreme regarding mutants and psychics fell under those parameters. Goodman was taking a risk letting Anderson walk free, and as a Judge no less. Still, he felt Mega City One would be better for it.

"Judge Anderson," Sava popped out the screen door, letting it crash behind him. "Ma says you both should come in before you catch cold." He shot Dredd a suspicious look. He cut between them pointedly, entering before Dredd and after Anderson when they filed inside. Dredd thought he should have been annoyed but instead he found it faintly entertaining how children gathered around her. They saw her as something else, a living, breathing woman where adults hashed out treacherous boundary lines to confine a beast. Perhaps it was a compliment they found him a threat. It might mean he had a good read on her.

He hoped so.


End file.
